


Guilty Barrel

by plumeraccoon



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project, Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angels, Angels vs. Demons, Blood and Gore, Datenshi, Demons, F/F, Fallen Angels, Good versus Evil, Gun Violence, Incest, Lesbian Sex, Out of Character, Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 61,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumeraccoon/pseuds/plumeraccoon
Summary: ACT I --COMPLETE--ACT II --COMPLETE--ACT III --IN PROGRESS (LIMITED)--Part of the Sunshine STARS Project, 1st tier.A disavowed fallen angel seeks redemption by hunting down rogue demons and either convince them to return to the fold or kill them if they refuse. One such mission, however, leads her to a chance encounter with a human who complicates matters. Now, fate gathers the players in a city of mortals, as the fallen angel--Yohane the Guilty Barrel--decides between redeeming herself among her kin and saving the only friend she ever had.FEATURING THE ROLES OF:Yoshiko Tsushima as Yohane the Guilty BarrelRiko Sakurauchi as Ricosia the Lonely SwordYou Watanabe as Yusari the Perverted PeltastDia Kurosawa as Adamia the ResoluteRuby Kurosawa as the Elfin Demon RuberiKanan Matsuura as Dectera of the Ninth Dominion, Seeker of the RightChika Takami, Hanamaru Kunikida, and Mari Ohara as themselvesContains nudity, violence, and gore. Viewer discretion is advised.





	1. A Sweet Mercy

_The denizens call this forsaken world Earth. It is rotten to the core. Down to the alley vermin fighting over spoils, the populace harbors its brand of darkness. They race to the top of the social food chain, using others as springboards to get far or pulling them down to get ahead. Only a select few choose to play by the rules, putting them at odds with the many that do not and costing them dearly. It sickens me to see the shameful go about their antics without consequence._

\--Excerpt from Dectera’s journal

 

From a secluded alley, the mixing echoes of pleas for help and despicable laughter fall to deaf ears. A starless night sky masks a crime none will ever read, hear, or speak of. Against the wall, a battered Yoshiko holds on to her bag—her only means of defense—as her lecherous captors close the gap. A ripped uniform and lopsided skirt bears bare skin and lingerie, fueling the delinquents’ ever-carnal fantasies. They smirk at the thought of taking turns in partaking in her virgin body to the last drop of its essence, caring little for the toll on her.

Such is the reality in a city whose faith in divine judgment pales in comparison to the laity. Wicked deeds go about their business without retribution from the law or one’s own hands. Rape, perhaps the most despicable of crimes, preys on youth coming out of schools. Ever the trickster, cruel fate plays its hand on Yoshiko who has done nothing (relevant) to deserve such an ordeal. Against the delinquents’ warped desires, only her empty threats stand in their way.

“I-I’m warning you,” Yoshiko stuttered. “Yohane will not stand for this treachery. You will all hear from the lords of the abyss if you don’t stand down.”

The gang’s sardonic laughter shows their degree of concern for heaven and hell. “What’re they gonna do? Rape us to death?” said one rude tongue, perhaps the leader, followed by more laughter.

“Y-You won’t get away with this,” Yoshiko’s tirade of empty threats continued. Her hands conceal as much bare skin as they can from the inevitable. “Yohane will curse you all for a thousand years—no, beyond your mortal lifetimes.”

The gang leader comes forward with his threat, strangling Yoshiko with one hand and stroking her exposed genitals with the other. Not even the stoic can resist the arousal, albeit with a hint of pain. A kiss in her neck adds to the arousal, as well as the voyeurs’ growing list of misconducts to be judged, if at all.

“Cut the crap and become a good little sex toy,” said the leader. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Asked what he means by “soon,” he returned a smug.

Nothing is in the way of her captors from partaking in virgin flesh as she struggles to break free. With every caress, her moaning grows and the struggle more futile. Sporadic pleas to stop fall to ears too focused on hearing her orgasm. Around them, not a soul can be called upon to stop this madness. This part of the city is dark and devoid of people for a reason.

A jolt of pain surges all over her body as the leader forced his hand through the lips between her legs. Under the sounds of her own orgasm, she submits to the malice of the delinquents. Her hands quit the struggle for freedom and dangle devoid of life.

“Done already, hot stuff?” mocked one of the lackeys.

“Ah leave her be,” replied another. “Makes things easier for us.”

“We better make it fast, Boss. Tonight’s the big game.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just one smooch then we can go.”

The lips of malice and innocence make contact, an eerie warmth building up inside both of them. Yet, the delinquents’ touch remains in the realms they conquer with near impunity. Inside, the tip of their tongues bathe in each other’s forced love stretching like taffy. One deadly kiss leaves a broken Yoshiko on the alley floor, her violated flesh all but exposed with no means to retaliate. The other two delinquents see no point in partaking in a spent sex toy and leave with their leader.

Imagine their surprise upon realizing their unconscious “sex toy” mocking them in return, in a deeper voice no less. “Is that all?”

In stunned horror, the rapists turn around to witness Yoshiko pay no heed to her ruined wardrobe as she rises from a grim fate. Her chuckle hints to a terrible fate to befall her captors, making up for the empty threats before. The nearby dumpster gets her panties, which she kicks away.

“I’ll be honest with you,” her raspy tone continued. “That could’ve gone better had you said ‘pretty please’ first. This…isn’t as satisfying.”

Despite fear gripping their damned souls, the delinquents approach her, only to stop before two gunshots past their ears. The high school girl they once thought as helpless now holds a black-and-white pair of smoking barrels. No holsters, no belts, nothing out of plain sight. The guns are real, loaded, and pointing at savages that deserve more than a round to the head.

Killing them now plays against Yoshiko’s taste. She wants to play with them a little longer. “Tell you what. I’ll give you boys a second chance. Just let me get out of these clothes first.”

And get out she did.

Columns of dark energy undress her faster than by hand, enclosing her with dissolving pieces of what used to be her school uniform. Endless chains from beyond the realm bound her body from neck to feet, one rubbing between her legs that she finds most pleasurable. Alight with purple flame, the chains morph into parts of a bolder couture, black as the pair of wings that emerge from her back. Anyone foolish enough to undress her a second time will be hard beset by tight-fit gloves and stockings, if not the dress revealing a bit of cleavage. The ruby on her choker appears easier to remove, if anyone with enough bravado dares to dance with her holstered guns.

In the half-minute that passed, regret comes too late for the delinquents. Judgment will soon be passed unto them through a fallen angel’s bullet. But refreshed and freed from her mortal façade, she holds back her trigger finger. Not that she finds the thrill of battle to her distaste, but the laws of the universe prevent outright genocide. Knocking denizens senseless is the best thing a fallen angel—or any being of the heavens and underworld—can do in a foreign realm. She tells her captors this, along with the rules of a simple game.

“Listen up,” she begins. “Hit me at least once and you can do whatever you want with me.”

The game, however, is of little concern compared to the question nagging on the delinquent’s minds. “Who…who the hell are you?”

More than glad to spread her wings and giggle, she says her name. “They call me Yohane.”

**~O~**

HARMONY AND DISCORD walk among the denizens of a far-flung realm, third from the Sun, in their image and likeness. Breathing the same air and eating the same food, they evade watchful eyes and lie in wait. Their true numbers and rationale for their guises remain shrouded in each other’s veils, only to take them off when the time comes. Yet, such concerns matter little to the denizens lacking faith in their existence. Terms like “angels” and “demons” have no place in the vernacular. The heavens and the underworld wield no power in this dimension forged and maintained by mortal blood, sweat, and tears. The denizens have no interest in the affairs of the gods, but for some reason the latter do.

For the few whose hostility knows no bounds oblivion awaits. The laws governing neutral realms, whose word extends beyond the cosmos, have no say on denizens who stumble upon creatures like fallen angels and harm them. The fallen angel Yohane is expected to rain death upon the savages who violated her flesh. To her victims’ benefit, however, she chooses to rain a realm of hurt in close quarters. The battle favors the swift and ruthless, Yohane delivering assault after assault while dancing clear of the flurry of knives. The grace at which she switches between attack and defense makes a mockery of her enemies’ attempts. Perhaps by the time that they do, they might as well drop dead from fatigue.

Once brimming with the audacity to burst a young girl’s cherry, the delinquents drop under the weight of endless bruises to their bodies and spirits. Faces swell in varying hues of purple, blue, and red. Legs buckle and give up trying. A beaten delinquent reaching for his knife, a fingertip away, gets his entire arm crushed under Yohane’s heel. The crackle of bones pierces his comrades’ ears, a warning to not look at judgment being passed.

“Pathetic, all of you,” Yohane grinds her heel against the unfortunate man’s arm, caring little for his anguish. “Consider yourselves lucky that the laws prevent me from killing denizens of neutral realms. But given your pitiful state, you may as well wish you were dead.”

She is talking to vegetables at this point. The delinquents might wake up where they spent the cold, bloody night or behind bars. This hardly dissuades her from making an example out of the delinquent whose bones she ground finer than flour. Awake out of pain, he hits the wall back first at the mercy of the fallen angel’s chokehold.

“As for you,” Yohane’s glare knew as much mercy as her chokehold. “You reek of demonic energy. Speak your name and intention.”

Instead of speaking the truth, he opens fire with his mouth. The point-blank shot rocks the entire block but does little to deter the harbinger of death. Out of the smoke, she gets back into the fight with the delinquent’s true colors: red wings filled with the blood of the damned, a scorpion’s tail fresh from draining its last victim, and pure malice wrapping him from head to toe. Yohane no longer has any reason to hold her lust for battle back. The guns come off their holsters, loaded and ready to deliver their target’s sentence.

“Mischievous incubus,” she began. “I, Yohane the Guilty Barrel, Servant of the Black Hand, offer you a chance at redemption. Return to the fold and I shall, under Lucifer’s absolute word, forego your sins of past and present. Speak now lest I consider your silence hostile.”

The incubus instead shoots Yohane and her offer of mercy to ribbons. A minor annoyance to say the least, but nothing she cannot brush aside like the debris on her clothes.

“Very well. Your fate is sealed.”

Demon against demon takes to the vastness of the night sky, a kind of liberation that brings out their true power. The icy breeze thaws as it blows past the heat of battle. Blinding darkness hides the fight mortal eyes cannot track, much less the flashes of crossfire and sounds of struggle. Aware that a servant of the Black Hand must not be trifled with, the incubus unleashes its pent-up fury. Tail strikes, berserker barrages, energy blasts—anything to bring its opponent down. Yohane’s graceful flying, however, foils every attempt at her life.

And every fatal miss translates to a bullet in the arm, leg, or wings without fail. The incubus bursts in a shower of blood, the handiwork of rounds powerful enough to stop a cyclops dead, and falls several stories. Not satisfied with gravity doing all the work, Yohane hastens her enemy’s fall with a kick to the gut. A geyser of dust and stone follows the bloody impact.

Touching down short of the crater, Yohane walks toward her bloodied prey. The drums of victory already beat for the fallen angel, yet her enemy resists the inevitable. She wastes no time passing judgment with the pull of the trigger, ending a pitiful life in the head.

“In the name of discord, I condemn you to eternal slumber.”

Peace reigns unopposed over the city once again, though not the intention of the hidden of the realm. With power unfathomable, they can bring ruin to countless realms of their choosing and bathe them in the blood of their denizens. This realm, however, will still find peace for now, all thanks to the convenience of hunting down deserters. The incubus is but one of many, but all are fugitives in the fallen angel’s eyes no matter the reason. With such a purpose in mind, she prepares to fly away in the incubus’s wake, now a problem for the realm.

Then, a snapping branch shatters the silence. Yohane snaps to the source. Another rogue demon to vanquish, but she senses nothing. The same darkness that conceals the city block also leads a young redhead into danger. Fear locks up her arms and legs. The look of disbelief stems from her mind thrown into chaos. Witnessing an execution convinced her that she would get hers soon.

For Yohane, there can be no witnesses. A mad dash across the gap, she readies to eliminate the human that has known too much. Escape is pointless.

“You have seen what mortal eyes must not see,” Yohane points a gun at the terrified redhead. “For that, I cannot allow you to live.”

“No, please,” the girl stuttered. “I…I didn’t see anything. I-I swear.”

“Unfortunately, you are in no position to give me a guarantee. Speak your last words now.”

“Please…I beg you. Don’t kill me.”

“Such miserable last words…”

The girl’s pleas grow desperate with her tone. “I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone!”

Yet, the trigger inches close to dealing the death knell. “In the name of discord, I condemn you to eternal slumber.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

And there is more silence.

Yohane’s trigger finger stopped short of taking the shot. A brief calm arrives for her victim, albeit her fear of the inevitable persists. Not to ask for the reason, the girl exchanges an innocent gaze with an irate Yohane. Regardless, the gun is still poised to blow the girl’s head off.

Along comes an odd order from the executioner. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“I said ‘turn around.’”

“What for?”

“NOW!”

Still valuing her life, the girl complies. The wait for her eventual fate has her heart beating in angry protest. The gun remains pointed at her, a clear shot to the nape. A shot in the back is also a favorite way to deliver a death sentence.

Further dialogue only adds to the tension. “State your name.”

“Huh? M-My name?” the confused redhead replies.

“Have you not a name?”

“Well, I do. But…”

“Then out with it, or else.”

Out-of-place as the demand feels, the girl shows her willingness to do anything to be spared. “A name? Uh…oh, my name’s Riko. Riko Sakurauchi.”

“Good.”

One strike of the head later, the redhead named Riko falls unconscious. Yohane looks at her sleeping the night away a fortunate spirit. Her decision is not without disgust, as she cringes at the lack of a valid reason for sparing her. And once again, there is only silence as she flies away.


	2. Friends with Benefits

_I was forced to use the school as a means of blending in with the denizens of this forsaken realm. The disguise demands that I, a thousand-year-old demigod of destruction, put away my wings and walk the earth as among its youth to complete my task. Donning a mortal’s existence is no problem for even the discord faction’s cannon fodder._

_Regardless, distinction among gehenna’s finest means nothing to one who carries a mark of shame. Seared to my chest, the brand reminds me of my fall from favor. I seek to reclaim my position among the finest by fulfilling the task, which has led me to this backwater dimension. In the name of discord, I will succeed._

\--Yohane’s journal, 5 days after arrival

 

Assorted chatter fills the air of dancing pink petals, basking in first light of spring, the realm’s peace undeniable. Among the female youths echoing the monotony of lectures by iron-fisted teachers, an indifferent Yoshiko walks past their anxiety and sniveling. Fallen angels concern themselves with the affairs of mortals the same way lions do with those of sheep. And why should they? If anything, they can bring ruin to any hapless realm of their choosing with little to no regard for the consequences. They wield powers beyond a mortal can only dream or speak of in lore. Little time can be spared, if at all, for matters whose significance pales in comparison with mortal lives.

For Yohane, last night’s debacle named Riko is a reason to care. Common sense dictates that the witness to an execution in the shadows must also share the same fate as its victims. Yet, to her frustration for reasons unclear, Yohane chooses to spare Riko. Being denied from the truth adds to her frustration, her scowl pushing the other girls out of the way. Pondering on the matter any further worsens the look.

Yoshiko stops short of the gate, keeping her scowl. Preoccupied with her misgivings, she fails to notice a fellow student tapping her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Her misgivings will have to wait. She entertains the call  with a facade: a deep chuckle followed by weirdness of sorts. “How can the fallen angel Yohane be of service, mortal?”

Imagine her distress when her guest turned out to be Riko. “I’m sorry. I’m new here and can’t seem to recall where the second-year classrooms are.”

Yoshiko’s mouth slams shut in the face of a setup only fate can create. Her mind runs amok with the stark realization of a mere mortal seeing through her facade, even if this kind of Yohane is a ruse made to confuse. Words tangle like wires in her mouth, desperate to come up with an apt response, alibi or otherwise.

“Excuse me?” Riko asked again.

Not a second too soon, Yoshiko rebounds from her distress. “S-Second…f-floor…”

“Come again?”

“Second…f-f-floor…”

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

Anxiety reaching a fever pitch, Yoshiko snaps. “SECOND FLOOR, STUPID!” she gets away from a stunned Riko in a hurry.

“What’s gotten into her?”

Yoshiko finds solace under the stairs,  an unlikely spot for a search. Its darkness gives her time to catch her breath and calm her mind. But no amount of calm could ever undo the damage caused by a simple gaffe on her part. She is as good as found, no less by a mortal that she spared for reasons still bothering her.

In the midst of drowning her sorrows, a different mortal finds her. “Yoshiko-chan?”

“Kyaaaaa!” Yoshiko shrieks but grimaces seat the sight of an acquaintance. “Oh, it’s just you, Zuramaru. What do you want?”

“What are you doing there? Class is about to start, zura,” said Hanamaru.

“N-nothing of your concern,” Yoshiko stands up and brushes the filth off of her uniform.

“If it involves you hiding in some dark corner, then it’s _my_ concern.”

“What are you talking about? Fallen angels thrive in the darkness, especially their powers. It’s their little happy place, so to speak.”

As any loving mother with a weirdo for a daughter would, Hanamaru yanks her Yoshiko’s ear. “Well, if _this_ fallen angel doesn’t get to class soon, she’ll earn the ire of her devil teacher.”

“Okay, okay, I give! Stop pulling my ear already!”

“Good,” Hanamaru releases Yoshiko from the punishment. “Shall we get to class?”

“I’ll get you for this, Zuramaru.”

“Do it after school, zura.”

“I mean it! And don’t call me Yoshiko!”

Hanamaru is an exception. Five days into their friendship, a faint sense of trust connects her and the fallen angel (through her faux persona). For all her contempt for lesser beings, Yoshiko can afford to trust an innocent soul with a sweet tone and a penchant for the tic “zura.” For that matter, she sees friends as tools to cover her agenda from prying eyes. The apparent, deliberate revelation as Yohane can easily be passed off as a wannabe’s rhetoric, a ruse made to confuse. Hanamaru is but a seed from which a group of her so-called “little demons” will thrive and cover for her. And as with any tool, their fate is to be disposed of without a second opinion.

No doubt in her mind that she needs allies in this mortal plane. Without proper knowledge of making friends, however, Yoshiko seeks Hanamaru’s wisdom. This brings a different side of the fallen angel to the table, one Hanamaru finds odd. “I’m not sure how to answer that, zura. “Don’t you typically make friends by shaking hands and sharing a few laughs together?”

“Not where I come from,” said a resentful Yoshiko. “It’s every fallen—er, I mean man for himself.”

“That’s harsh, zura.”

“Come to think of it, I have no idea how _we_ even became friends.”

“Oh, that’s totally your fault. You keep coming to the temple seeking help.”

“You know that’s not true, Zuramaru.”

“You know it is. Five days in the city and you already look like you’re about to keel over, zura.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Fallen angels don’t _keel_ over, especially not before mortals.”

“ _More_ fallen angel stuff again, zura?”

A timid Yoshiko confides her dilemma with Hanamaru who tunes out the world around her. Vague examples replaced names and places, but no doubt was the focus on Riko and last night’s debacle. An innocent redhead comes across a recluse who beats an entire gang of wicked souls beyond the reaches of mercy. Before the recluse can explain herself, the redhead flees the scene in fear. The next sensible course of action is perhaps to report the incident to the authorities, but nothing of the sort has ever happened. She pins her hopes on becoming friends with the witness as proof that she means no harm, yet hesitation prevents her from taking the all-important first step.

Blind to the grittier details, Hanamaru offered her two cents. “That _is_ a complicated situation. Nothing a cup of tea can’t mend. Tell her that it’s all a misunderstanding, zura.”

“But I can’t even face her,” Yoshiko’s onerous doubt spoke on her behalf. “What if she still doesn’t believe me? What am I gonna do?”

“There’s no other way. You two need to talk it over, zura.”

“Sure I can’t bribe her into—”

“No, zura,” Hanamaru glared.

To her dismay, Yoshiko nods. “Fine. But I’m not promising anything.”

**~O~**

AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY, hesitation clings onto Yoshiko like a wet towel and steers her clear of confronting Riko. Ever the belle of the ball, she surrounds herself in a pulsating circle of friends. One tight circle during lunch disheartens Yoshiko from the clear path before her. The long wait behind the bushes is but a front-row seat for watching Riko eat, talk, and laugh with her barrier of peers. Another opportunity presents itself in the faculty office where Yoshiko sees Riko with a teacher. Near the end of the latter’s heart-to-heart, however, hesitation forces the former out of sight. In a chance encounter in the little girls’ room, Yoshiko chooses to watch Riko wash her hands from the safety of a cubicle.   

The afternoon bells ring the end of the chase and its dismal results: much effort for nothing gained. Yoshiko parts ways with Hanamaru without raising the matter, to the latter’s worry. Across the block, once last night’s battlefield, she walks the lonely road home lamenting at her failure. Her kin might find incompetence the sweetest dessert to go with a glass of her tears. The thought of ridicule almost makes her reach for one of her guns, hoping to take out her frustration on anything in sight, living or otherwise.

“No. I am better than this,” the gun on her hand vanishes in thin air. “Is this not the reason for my mission here on Earth? Is it not worth redemption?”

Yoshiko treads on, only to stop at the well-known cackle of hunger for virgin flesh. Through winding streets, she follows the sounds of malice to an incident in an alley out of sunset’s reach. The loudening groan and cackle push her with all haste. A stone’s throw from the source, she can make out voices she wishes never to hear in her lifetime.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Riko pleaded before the lecherous gazes of delinquents that Yoshiko knows far too well. “I’m just passing by and—”

“Likely story, missy,” the leader held Riko by her chin. “This is our turf. Everything here is ours, including beautiful passersby like you.”

“This better not be one of those winged freaks now,” said a fellow delinquent.

The leader shoves the business end of his gun at Riko’s chin, finger on the trigger. “Let her try. We’ll fill her with holes when she does.”

With the gun still poised to blow Riko’s head off, the leader presses his free hand under his victim’s skirt. Every attempt to push his hand in is agony to the helpless redhead, arousal to the gang, and rage to Yoshiko. Coming in all at once, the gang pins Riko against the wall as the leader squishes her breasts.

Riko’s suffering grows with every piece of clothing she loses to perverts. Pulling down her skirt and panties exposes her virginity to the leader’s tongue. Her bra snaps under the pull of hands enjoying the soft touch of her breasts. The scent of her flowing hair draws them closer like fly traps to flies. Under Riko’s futile cries for help, the fallen angel must make a decision. Leaving Riko to a terrible fate might just eliminate a nuisance to her agenda. All the fallen angel needs to do is to walk away. For some reason, however, her body refuses to move.

“Shut up and be a good little sex toy!” the irritated leader slams Riko’s head against the wall. A gasp of pain, then she loses consciousness.

Enough is enough. By the power of discord, she spreads her beautiful, black wings as the Guilty Barrel. One of the delinquents falls dead with a headshot from her gun, painting the scene with his blood. The rest pull away from their unconscious sex toy in horror..

“Disgusting degenerates,” Yohane riddled the bloody corpse with a dozen more shots. “All of you shall suffer the same fate.”

Shaken but not deterred, the delinquents shower the fallen angel with bullets of their own, which bounce off before they touch her clothes. The guns click empty without a scratch to their target. Now, the cackle of the harbinger of death knocks on their door and laughs at their futile attempts to cheat it. Yohane ends the other degenerate as gruesome as the one before him.

The leader falls to his knees, begging for his life like the craven he is. “P-Please spare me! Those two urged me to—”

Yohane silences him without a word.

Neither shall this be a first nor the last does an otherworldly being bring demise to a neutral species. This incident will never see the light of truth, but rather hidden behind sealed lips and sealed archives. The damned souls, now on their way to eternal punishment, will not receive their chance to present themselves. The nightmares they have sown among the living makes for a fitting penalty to last until eternity’s end. The corpses and the blood-soaked alley will be the Earth’s problem.

Riko’s nightmare has yet to end. She wakes up to the sight of one of her savior’s guns poised to blow her head off, not to mention the fatal fates that befell the delinquents. The chain of events sinks in too slow to let her feel fear or pain, much less speak her mind. Two traumatizing events in one setting take their toll on her humanity.

“Give me a reason to spare your pitiful life,” Yohane closes her finger on the trigger.

Not a word.

“Speak now or I consider your silence as a waiver.”

Not a word.

“Do you not value your life, mortal?”

Further dialogue proves pointless, but no joy can be found in executing the living whose life all but escaped her. Yohane puts her guns away and grabs Riko by the chin. “Seek the mortal named Yoshiko Tsushima. Befriend her.”


	3. Out of the Bag

_Authorities last night found the bodies of the three escapees convicted of sexual violence at an alley on the city’s eastern sector. Responding to several calls claiming to have heard gunshots, authorities found the convicts dead. They found no evidence of other parties involved, suggesting that the three fought amongst themselves for reasons unknown. Authorities are continuing the investigation…_

\--Local TV news report

 

The following morning is one of disbelief, at least for the crowd seeing Yoshiko’s smile in place of her usual scowl. Once biting back at any who comes close for any reason, her aura appears to have found inner peace. Not without their doubts, fellow students feel at ease walking to school with her, even fancying idle chatter. Others look on in awe of the work of a mysterious power that managed to soothe the savage spirit. They suddenly feel wanting that power to solve their problems within their own circles.

From the school gates, Hanamaru notices the small but tight crowd encircling Yoshiko. She, too, scratches her head before a sight whose rarity fares to an ancient wonder. Reaching the grounds, the students go their separate ways with hopes of another lovely chat in the future. A wave of farewell later, Yoshiko finally picks up on her friend’s disbelief. “What?”

“What just happened?” asked Hanamaru. “You were talking to those girls like girlfriends.”

“Weird, right?” Yoshiko grinned. “They suddenly came up to me and started talking. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a crowd on my way here.”

“I can see that. I want to know how…and why.”

“Maybe because your advice on making friends worked like a charm?”

“Oh. Is that what it’s about?”

“Just as you said. Talk it over and start over.”

“I didn’t think you had _that_ many issues, zura.”

Past the convenient lie, Yoshiko’s uncanny source of confidence is one of circumstance. Her grin stretches at the thought of Riko seeking to owe her savior her life, even as the unplanned rescue spilled blood. The name drop adds to the ease of returning the favor, seeking the girl named Yoshiko Tsushima and building bridges together.    

Soon, such fantasies shatter before Riko’s livid glare from a distance. The gap between her and a stunned Yoshiko shrinks with steady strides, imminent rage angled Yoshiko’s way. A sense of danger urges Hanamaru to back away, leaving her friend to deal with the antithesis of her fantasies. This is no look of an indebted soul looking to return the favor, but rather one not to be trifled with, mortal or otherwise.

“Excuse me,” Riko’s elevated tone rattled a perched flock. “Are you Yoshiko Tsushima?”

Yoshiko resists the pesky calls to cave in, to a mortal no less. “S-So what if I am?”

One glance at Hanamaru, blurting “zura” like a gag reflex, and Riko drags Yoshiko inside the school by her arm. “Come with me.”

“H-Hey! What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Not a chance. We need to talk.”

Along the halls, pockets of fellow students pause and turn their heads to a remarkable sight. Riko’s lividness plows through hundreds of eyes as a cowcatcher does against obstacles. Her only carriage, a grumbling Yoshiko, tiptoes toward collapse as the engine pulling her speeds up. Amidst all eyes on them, Riko treads ahead unafraid with Yoshiko turning away from the gazes and the gossipy lips that come in their wake.

They find sanctuary in the music room, behind a locked door and in the company of a full orchestra sans its members. The peace makes for an ideal retreat from the troubles of the world, yet Riko’s glare and Yoshiko’s aching wrist leave much to be desired. Even after finding sanctuary, the redhead refuses to let go of her guest.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Riko started. “How are you related to that girl with guns?”

Yoshiko feigns innocence. “Girl…with guns?”

From a tight grip, Riko grabs Yoshiko by the collar. “Don’t screw with me! She told me to befriend a girl named Yoshiko Tsushima. That’s you, right?”

“Y-Yeah. But I don’t know who…”

“So you’re telling me that she just came up with that name? Likely story.”

“I told you. I don’t know any girl with Hellstorm handguns!”

“Hellstorm?”

The rest of the words go down Yoshiko’s throat, never to be spoken before skepticism, as she looks away. An emboldened Riko draws her closer to a dour look, the latter unsure whether or not to expect a kiss. The tense situation, however, hides a strange feeling that fixates their gazes. Filled with anxiety, their hearts fancy several skips on the hopscotch for as long as their leers refuse to look away. The unexplainable impulse douses much of Riko’s ire, even releasing Yoshiko from her clutches.

“You know something,” Riko fidgets in regret. “I know you’re related to that winged girl somehow. Please tell me. I’m scared.”

The sparkle in Riko’s eyes complements the unease staring Yoshiko’s way. The latter chokes on a kind of guilt not among her burden, calling out and urging her to reconsider. Red with shame, she yields.  “Fine! She’s my older sister, okay?”

“Your…sister?”

“My sister’s a fallen angel. Satisfied?”

“That…isn’t telling much. Is she cosplaying or something?”

“Would a cosplayer go around killing rogue demons in the middle of the night?”

“Rogue demons? I don’t follow.”

“And you have the NERVE to demand answers you don’t even understand?”

“I don’t know if you’re serious or not. Fallen angels? Rogue demons? Really?”

“I’m telling the truth here. She’s the reason fools like _you_ are still alive. You of all beings should be eternally grateful.”

Riko takes offense at the use of the word “fool,” no less by a real fool. “So I’m a fool now? Do you have any idea how scary it is to have a gun pointed to your head? Not once but _twice_?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Yoshiko turns her back in defiance.

The fair maiden’s ire returns and grabs Yoshiko by the collar a second time. “Well, tell your sister this. I won’t be grateful for what she did! And I _definitely_ won’t be friends with you!” She lets go of Yoshiko and storms out of the music room,  the door slamming shut in her wake. Yoshiko watches her first (and perhaps last) chance to make friends slip from her grasp. Somewhere, cruel fate laughs at her folly.

The plan is a failure, but her hopes suffer the greatest. The resulting chaos becomes its own abomination for her and her alone to vanquish. As the bell tolls for another mundane day of lecture and leisure, Yoshiko leaves the music room on a somber note. “I should’ve just killed her.”

**~O~**

A LACK OF FAITH protects and imperils this realm. The denizens go about their lives with little regard to the great conflict raging since the dawn of time and space. Down to the younglings, angels and demons are figments whose exploits fill the pages of a fairy tale. Humans build their own destinies, that of others to an extent, with their own hands. This world has little need for the forces of harmony and discord to choose for it.

Angels and demons will find no great power to augment their own in this realm, but they will find no one to stop their agenda. Yohane’s mission of redemption takes her to a vast hunt for deserters. Fallen angels, devils, and other creatures of discord with no business in neutral realms must return to the fold and continue the war. Anything else warrants a swift execution by the Guilty Barrel, a “condemnation to eternal slumber.” Traces of demonic activity in neutral realms must be silenced, lest risking fighting on a wider front. One repatriated or vanquished demon is one step closer to the coveted favor of her overlords. Nothing else is asked of her, not even petty affairs with an annoying redhead.

Dusk sweeps across the barren city block, an arena for hidden agendas for the longest time. Yoshiko’s senses tingle at the prospect of another battle to savor, her head on a swivel. Streets and alleys lie quiet as they have since beyond reach of memory. Still, her penchant for battle at the slightest hint in the air has yet to fail her. Something will be coming for her head.

True to her intuition, four contacts barrel down the crossroads in hopes of dealing the fatal blow first. The lust for battle surges inside Yoshiko, making a mockery out of the ambush with deliberate near-misses. The veil of mystery unveils the serrated fangs and spiky, jet black fur of wolf-like creatures standing on their hind legs. Their claws ooze with blood of the unfortunate, scraps of flesh and bone trapped in between.

“Angel fodder,” Yoshiko remarks. “Of all the rogues, fate has me fighting lycanthropes. But I guess I am in no position to pick my poison.”

Impressing her more is her opponent’s sentience, their growls sneaking between their words. “Brothers, we have been found! We must end her if we are to avoid His wrath.”

“Yet, your race still speaks like the olden fools,” Yoshiko sighed.

“Silence, Guilty Barrel,” snarled the alpha, the largest of the brothers, in front. “Never shall we be your pawns in this pointless conflict. We are FREE.”

“Oh, so you know me? Flattered as I may be, it cannot save you or your kin.”

“We never have forgotten our brethren’s demise. He _begged_ for his life, yet your treachery dealt a death most undeserving.”

“I merely fulfilled what was asked of me. You know the judgment that awaits deserters.”

The lycans ready their craving for blood, the alpha taunting his lone opponent. “You shall not live long enough to deliver ours, fallen angel.” For all their bravado, the lycans lose heart before the chains and dark energies that transform an aroused Yoshiko into their feared enemy.

Now, the bells toll for the lycans’ doom as Yohane spreads her wings. “Let us begin.”

Grunts and gunfire dance a dangerous waltz across a swathe. The crackle of 60-caliber rounds forged in hellfire crosses path with the high-pitched slice of bloodied lycan claws. The melee tears much of the neighborhood apart in a splash of concrete, steel, and shattered glass. The four brothers prove to be adversaries worthy of satisfying Yohane’s bloodlust, getting swept in a bloodlust of their own all the same. Yet, their cause for freedom falls short of the fallen angel’s ruthless mandate.

The blood of a defeated race dyes the crossroads and the surrounding destruction. Torn limbs dangle from power lines and atop the fences. Gaping holes stand where vital organs once breathed life. Three lycans end their struggle with a bullet to the head each. And with a fourth shot, judgment falls down upon the disgraced alpha. Fierce as it was, the one-sided battle left not a single cut on the fallen angel. “You fought a good fight, lycans. Just not good enough.”

Suddenly, footsteps and a familiar voice: “So, your sister, huh?”

Yohane nearly pulls the trigger upon turning around. The annoying redhead responds with a grin. “I was wrong. Fallen angels really do exist.”

The urge to put Riko down once and for all builds up inside Yohane. “What are you doing here? How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see you transform. It was beautiful.”

“Give me a good reason _not_ to shoot you right now.”

To Yohane’s surprise, Riko spreads her arms out. “I don’t. Go right ahead.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go ahead and shoot.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“I’m telling you to shoot me.”

The trigger falls short of delivering the fatal blow, but Yohane keeps the gun pointed at Riko. A silent standoff ensues, neither backing down from their goals. Every second she hesitates to fire, Yohane learns of a feeling that she has long casted away. One that drowns in the sounds of battle, one she believes is of no use in combat.

“Earlier, you looked sad,” Riko began.

“Sad?” replied a puzzled Yohane.

“You looked like you were having fun fighting those monsters. But I could see.”

“What are you mumbling about?”

“Something was worrying you during the fight. You can’t bring yourself to think about it.”

“And why would you care?”

“A normal person wouldn’t. But something inside tells me that I should. I can’t explain it.”

Yohane almost bows down to a confession but snaps back. “And you expect me to believe all that crap? I should’ve shot you back there!”.

“If it’ll make you happy, then here’s your chance” Riko pulled Yohane’s gun close to her heart and closed her eyes.

Doubt has plagued the fallen angel’s mind for far too long. Rallying her intent, she pulls the trigger. At point blank, even a child finding his careless parent’s gun cannot miss. Yet, the bullet zips past a hair’s breadth from Riko’s ear. Riko opens her eyes to the click of an empty gun and the absence of a blood-soaked uniform.

“Consider yourself lucky,” said Yohane. “I must retire and replenish my rounds. I shall spare your miserable soul…for now.” She takes to the dimming skies, trailing tears.

Her decision hardly surprises Riko, who keeps her smile at the end. “Liar.”


	4. Old Wounds

_I met a fallen angel today. No joke._

_I’ll probably never know how they came to be, but count me as a believer. Her black wings mesmerized me to the point that I forgot that she was out to kill me. If not that, then her transformation was a sight to behold. She’s like one of those “magical girls” on TV. Not that I’m a fan._

_We didn’t start off on the right foot, and she’s still out to kill me. But seeing her sadness made me realize something. I may have an idea why she’s that desperate to make friends. Maybe making sure that I don’t blurt out her misdeeds to anyone is one of the reasons, but there’s more to it. If she’s to survive in our world, she’ll need friends. And I’m eager to be one._

\--Excerpts from Riko’s diary

 

 

> “Dimension Meadowlark 26-427: Second Battle of the Meadowlark, XX galactic year of the universal calendar. Discord forces under the command of [redacted] attempt to breach enemy defensive line near the woodlands. Three waves of frontal assaults failed, resulting in heavy casualties. Fallen angels Yohane and Yusari sent on raiding mission behind enemy lines as a distraction…"

Faces crooked as their futile pleas of mercy, a trail of archangels bathe in their own blood. A broken trail of weapons and willpower in its wake, an imminent threat pushes deeper into the woods. Up the bloody trail, the silence of the sequoias cracks under the sounds of a skirmish. The rattle of guns and clashing steel blends with cries of a company doomed to fall in battle. The same crooked faces add to the trail of death, the work of two pairs of black wings. One holds a pair of Hellstorms, the other a spear of dark steel. One scowls before the filth of the archangels’ sparkle, the other impales the sole survivor to death after relishing in his agony. Among discord’s ranks, one dangerous duo executes such a mission with brutality that surpasses that of the overlords.

“Can you _not_ delay an angel’s demise more than what is necessary? It disturbs me,” Yohane the Unholy Hollow puts away her guns after a quick reload.

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” Yusari the Perverted Peltast licks the blood off her spear’s edge. “You know I fancy cries of agony.”

“Neither is this the time nor place for your warped wishes. If the enemy hears—”

“I know, I know. This _is_ a stealth mission, after all.”

“The commander will have our heads if we cannot break the enemy lines by the time of the attack. Time is of the essence here, Yusari.”

Yusari leans on her partner’s back. “Maybe…or you’re just after the title of champion.”

“Stop your nonsense. The mission takes top priority.”

“Says the fallen angel who challenged me to a kill count.”

“Enough. We move out now.”

The fallen angels push deeper into the woods, ever hungry for a fight worth their time. Through the lushness of the sequoias’ overarching roots, they reach the end of the trail: a camp of angels in a clearing. Their complacence shows in folded wings and an armory stacked with their arms of choice. Success of Yohane and Yusari’s allies on the front hangs in leaving the amount of savagery in the least time.

A quick scan reveals an eerie situation. A camp that may as well be the heart of their enemies’ defense sports too few sentries, some wasting away under a pint or two. The packed armory stands as a tempting target, its destruction denying the defenders a fighting chance. An easy victory, to say the least, if not for a few details amiss.

“There should be more guards than this,” Yohane remarked.

“Stop complaining,” Yusari replied. “This makes our job easier. We can probably wipe out everyone in the camp in a few minutes.”

“That may be the case, but I want to observe their actions for a little longer.”

“Whatever happened to ‘time is of the essence’?”

“I never said that we were in a hurry.”

“You’re not making any sense, Yocchan.”

An eternity behind the hedges pays off. The sentries gather around an entourage of cherubs emerging from the trees. Standing at par with the chest of the lesser angels, their short stature hardly diminishes the respect they deserve. Angels and demons alike know not to take these born tacticians in battle as they would an expendable.

Yohane shoves Yusari’s head to the ground. “Three cherubs. Of all the times…”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Yocchan,” Yusari replied, the ground muffling her voice.

“Our orders are to create a distraction to thin the enemy lines. Taking out an enemy commander is out of the question.”

“Is that what the renowned Unholy Hollow would say?”

Yohane’s former title is one of ruthlessness, one that fits a fallen angel willing to execute one of her own for the benefit of all. Remorse and regret have no place in her ruthless resolve, if not come later. The amount of caution, as necessary as the situation permits, has her reflecting on her reputation. Lost in thought but not out of focus, she reaches a crossroads. She can only take one of the three roads ahead: attack, lay in wait, or fight another day.

Wearing a schemer’s smile, Yusari raises her head to confront her partner. “The Yocchan I know would lay waste to this camp on the fly, especially when she’s a few kills away.”

“I told you. Such accolades matter little to me,” Yohane answered.

The temptation from the schemer’s word of mouth continues unabated. “One cherub _might_ just get you that title, Yocchan. Imagine how proud the commander will be when he hears that the Black Hand finally has its first champion.”

“Since when did the commander care?”

“Oh, he cares. Like, a lot.”

“What are you saying?”

Yusari’s grin widens, hinting at trickery. “If we attack now, we can kill several birds with one stone.”

Surprise the enemy, slay a cherub, make them call for help, and pull out as their allies attack. Four birds to be exact, four tempting outcomes stem from a single choice. With Yusari offering her spear, Yohane holds the pivotal decision in her hands. In the camp, the cherubs prepare to leave for the front once more. She can defer her decision no longer.

The time to lie in wait is over. The rain of bullets and javelins from above marks the start of a battle to commit to memory. The fusillade tears limbs and spills guts on the grass, the bloodied few that flee fall dead after headshots from a distance. Stray spears and bullets set the encampment ablaze in black flame, fabric stained with the blood of angels burning in agony. The deadly tango only Yohane and Yusari, backs against each other, can do mocks the angels’ attempts to destroy an enemy force they outnumber ten to one. The overlords can never go wrong with this dangerous duo on the loose behind enemy lines, as they proved battle after battle, time and time again.

The cherubs flee as the last of the guard suffers a similar fate. With an emboldened Yohane, their efforts will be in vain. “Go after them!” she flies into the dark woods, Yusari holding the rear. She reaches for the coveted privilege dangling from the fleeing cherubs, her one-track mind sealing off the world around her including her partner’s warning. “Yocchan, wait! They’re heading to—”

“I’m _not_ losing those angels!” Yohane carries on.

“I’m serious! If we don’t turn around now—”

“If I could just kill one of them…”

“Yocchan, LOOK OUT!”

Yohane’s shrill of pain lances the bounds of heaven and earth, the result of an arrow of light guided by Apollo’s hand. A crippled wing sends her careening toward the rocky knoll claimed by the roots of the oldest sequoias. Mangled limbs and blood slithering down her face, she bears another volley from a well-placed ambush. More of the stinging arrows embed themselves all over Yohane’s body, searing the darkness inside with pure light. The pain is too much.

A second volley dashes through the towering trunks to seal her fate. If not for Yusari getting in between and taking the blow, certain death will befall her partner. But now, with Yusari shrieking in constant pain, the unseen enemies make themselves known. Behind rows of hedges, they witness the radiance of a melting pot of their sworn enemies. Among the lesser angels, cherubs, seraphs, and a handful of virtues bear down on them as a sweeping wave. All but the lesser angels are more than a match for the wounded fallen angels.

“Yocchan,” Yusari struggles to stay up, the arrows of light burning through her body “Are you…okay?” Not a word from a horrified Yohane. “Don’t worry. I’ve…felt worse.”

“This is neither the time nor place to act tough, Yusari,” Yohane winced at her own pain.

“If I can…make you owe me…then it’s worth…”

“Stop messing around and get out of here!”

Shrugging off the arrows’ insults, Yusari digs her heels in an apparent last stand. “Sorry…but this time…it’s my turn to protect you.”

“Yusari, no!”

A deep breath and Yusari enters a fight to the finish. “Come at me, angels!”

Brandishing an all-powerful virtue, cruel irony slices through her body and resolve in one fell swoop. A graze, as mighty beings like his angelic kind calls it, slices her organs clean and spills blood on the battlefield. She feels her life slipping from her grasp, a would-be corpse before she lands hard on the rocky knoll. Yohane, a witness to the carnage, looks on a pathetic excuse of a warrior. The gravity of the tragedy is slow to sink in, an unbelievable reality even as death approaches her to deal one more killing blow. Mustering the little life left in her, Yusari reaches out her hand one last time.

“Yo…Yocchan…live,” her last words before the virtue impales her.

> “…distraction failed to dislodge the enemy line. Harmony forces remain in control of the Meadowlark. One casualty: Yusari the Perverted Peltast was killed while trying to escape an ambush. Yohane the Unholy Hollow was charged with insubordination for failing to follow direct orders. Disavowed at the War Council’s recommendation.”

**~O~**

“THAT NIGHTMARE AGAIN,” Yoshiko stares into the abyss beyond her spread of rice and fried eggs. A patch of gloom amidst an air of lovely chatter, the lunch she prepared to share with a certain schoolmate remains untouched. The lonely _sakura_ tree sprinkles its petals, making it no less palatable than it appears but no more appetizing, as well. Every fiber of her being coerces her into throwing the lunchbox in a hissy fit, if not drown in frustration of an awful memory.

“Why now of all times?” the dream of a doomed skirmish haunts her ever so sinister. The shrills of a beloved comrade’s demise rival that of banshees, also seeking relief from their suffering. Run as she may from an unwanted past, the inner demons have caught up and begin to remind her of the reason the Guilty Barrel exists: one of redemption. They will continue to do so until that goal has been achieved, even then the dream can choose to remain to rape her mind further. No rest will come in the aftermath of this ordeal. No rest will ever come.

One certainty that comes, however, is Riko with her own packed lunch. “Hey there, want to eat lunch together? I’ll share some if you like.”

“Go away,” Yoshiko glared.

Riko sits beside her, anyway. “Sorry, but you need help.”

“I don’t need your help. Or anyone’s.”

“Too late. I’m right next to you now.”

“You really want to _die_ that badly?”

“You could’ve pulled the trigger back there. Nobody was stopping you.”

“I ran out of bullets, alright.”

“Whatever you say, Yocchan.”

“Yo-Yocchan?!” shrieked a flustered Yoshiko, her lunch nearly lost to dirt of the pavement. She goes by many names in the underworld, stupid ones to boot, but never as humiliating as playing jump rope with Japanese honorifics. “I object to being called in such a degrading manner. Call me like you foolish mortals usually do.”

“But that’s how friends call each other, Yocchan,” Riko smirked.

The redness of Yoshiko’s face rivaled that of the blood of her enemies. “Yo-Yocchan again?! My name is Yohane! YO-HA-NE!” Riko bursts in laughter, making for a more frustrated Yoshiko. “Hey! Stop laughing! And don’t call me Yocchan!”

“I’m sorry,” Riko wipes her tears of joy off her eyes, a far cry from the trauma days prior. “I just realized how funny you are when you’re red as a tomato.”

“Seriously? That’s your angle?”

“It’s all in good fun, Yocchan.”

“Yo…ugh, never mind. Do what you want.”

The two share lunchtime in silence, though Yoshiko’s gaze darts between her lunch and the fair maiden next to her. Blood and emotions surge at the sight of cute, little Riko taking a bite of her spring roll. The soft smile chewing her food draws her in as would a siren of the depths to sailors unaware. The emotions intensify when her gaze turns to her flowing hair, perhaps the envy of princesses of lore. The call of hunger falls to numb senses as a mesmerized Yoshiko grabs a lock of Riko’s hair instead of a fried egg. The eventual sniffing gives her away.

“Yocchan?” Riko turned to an enthralled Yoshiko, the latter snapping out of her trance and recoiling. Whether or not Riko turned a blind eye on her friend’s fetish remain in the shadow of the offering of a spring roll. “Do you…want some spring rolls? They’re good.”

This time, temptation has all but lost its hold on Yoshiko. “N-No. I don’t want it. Fried food is a big no-no for my diet.”

“But your eggs are—” 

“I said no. Thank you.”

Neither have any means of turning an awkward situation on its head. Their chopsticks are for no other purpose than satisfying their hunger. Their gazes refuse to exchange amidst the growing and deepening bond. Precious minutes tick away. One has to break the stalemate.

It was Yoshiko. “You were right about one thing.”

“Right about what?” replied Riko.

“During the fight with the lycanthropes, I felt sad.”

“Would it trouble you if I—”

Yoshiko wastes no time revealing the source of her despair: “An old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“Yeah. Sadistic, self-promoting, and spiteful. These three are all you need to define her.”

“Sounds like you have it rough.”

“Not as much as the incident that led me to your world.”

“Long story?”

“Oh yeah.”


	5. Lazarus

_A week has passed since I came to this backwater realm. Rogue demons run rampant with impunity, dressed among the foolish mortals. The hypocrites claim to flee from the eternal conflict, yet their mischief reeks among incidents in the shadows. Incubi raping ill-fated females, lycanthropes feasting on mortal flesh, the list goes beyond the reaches of gehenna itself._

_Along came the nuisance named Riko Sakurauchi. Behind that faux smile lies a cobra’s fangs primed to bite. She may have seen my buried sadness, but I draw the line there. Past that is a mortal’s death wish. For now, I will play along with her charade. Nothing shall get in the way of MY prize._

\--Yohane’s journal, 6 days after arrival

 

“Come join the School Idol Club! Shine with us!”

The varying levels of chatter over lunch hardly dissuade Chika, swimming in her sweat, from handing out flyers. Her smile stretches at breaking point with every handmade handout taken off her hands. Many lend an ear to her fortitude, but few consider taking up on the offer. If anything, said fortitude blinds her from a trash bin nearby where most drop the flyers in disinterest.

Oblivious to the cruel reality she may be, Chika refuses to stop. Overall response has been somewhere along the lines of “I’ll take it under advisement.” As far as human nature is concerned, such a reply may either hold a degree of truth or a premise to disagree. Ever the optimist, she takes “No” for an answer amidst clear evidence of scowls and ennui. Down to her last dozen flyers, most treated as a waste of trees, her calls to action intensify among the remaining students in the common grounds. “The School Idol Club needs you! Sign up today and don’t delay!”

So does the annoyed reception. “So annoying. Who does she think she is?”

Near the break’s end, a single flyer flutters in Chika’s hand. The grounds lie silent enough for her hunger to growl in angry protest. “Ugh, maybe I should’ve grabbed a quick bite before doing this.”

A _taiyaki_ appears from a student’s hand out of nowhere. “Hungry?”

Hesitant at first, Chika accepts the offer. “Oh, thank you. Talk about timing.”

“Better eat fast. Lunch is almost over,” said the student.

“Thanks,” Chika bites the red-bean rich head of the pastry. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you here before. Are you a new student?”

“Yeah, just transferred days ago. You Watanabe, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chika Takami.”

“Likewise.”

Chika seizes the moment to shove the last flyer You’s way in exchange for the _taiyaki_. “By the way, would you like to join the School Idol Club?”

“School Idol Club?” a puzzled You accepts the flyer.

“I’ve decided to start one this year. We’ll sing and dance together, wear cute costumes, give out autographs…um…oh, win Love Live!”

“Love Live?”

“Only the biggest competition for school idols.”

“Sounds fun.”

Chika moves her face too close for comfort. “I know, right? So, are you game?”

Chuckling nervously, You looks for her answer somewhere in between to no avail. Her gaze swings from the vibrant flyer to the more vibrant Chika and back, between accepting an unknown offer and risking nipping friendship in the bud.      

“I understand,” Chika’s glee turns on its head. “Sorry for getting carried away. I can’t possibly expect you to say yes, seeing as you just got here.”

“N-no,” You replied. “I offered a _taiyaki_ to a total stranger. I should know better.”

“Don’t worry about it. If you ever change your mind, come find me.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could give you an answer right away.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you around.”

On the verge of parting ways, they turn to Riko calling one of them from a distance. “Chika-chan!” she walks up to them, bringing Yoshiko along. The last minutes satisfy the girls’ need to share their names and interests, mostly Chika’s.

Yet, uneasiness hounds her whenever she eyes Chika’s new friend. Eyes of sapphire and pale hair remind her of a memory bringing her much heartache. Flashes of a tragedy that burdens her to this day flicker before her eyes. Perhaps reincarnation has played its hand on her slain kin reborn anew. Not far from the realm of possibility but no better than speculation in the absence of evidence.

It takes a concerned Riko to snap her out. “Yocchan? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” Yoshiko replied. “I’m just not used to strangers, okay?”

“Come on, we’re no longer strangers. We’re friends.”

“Do whatever.”

The girls head back, Chika and Riko go on ahead with You following suit. Perhaps Yoshiko’s worry stands on coincidence. Perhaps You is among the lookalikes the world finds amusing, if not perplexing. Perhaps thinking about the past will only serve to tear her apart inside.

Then, a chilling whisper as You passes: “Miss me?”

Yoshiko’s body snaps around out of a stark realization. You keeps walking, looking back to grin as her response. Between the incessant nightmare of so many nights and a greeting that suggests so much, a story thought to have ended has resumed.

**~O~**

THE SUNSET GLOW makes for a fitting meeting behind closed doors. The rooftop lies devoid of people but You, just the way she wants it. Snickering at the stream of students bound for home or the arcade, she relishes at the thought of crushing ants with her heel. Her mind swims in other, more gruesome ways of torture, a tale for another time. Her eagerness to put words into action shows through the sparkle in her azure eyes, followed by licking across her lips.

The cadence of footsteps turns her body around, before a stoic Yoshiko dyed by the sunset. Scant feet separate the two, one seeking to make a new friend and the other seeking answers. You shrugs off the cold gaze and wears her best smile. “Hey there. Here to enjoy the sunset? Maybe the air? Maybe _both_?”

Yoshiko’s words can be found in the business end of her Hellstorms. “You are not who you appear to be.”

“W-Whoa, is that real?” You nearly stumbles at the hostile response. “Come on, now. Can’t we talk this over? Like good friends?”

“There is much to talk about,” her finger inches toward another dead mortal to add to the pile. “Only if you show yourself…Yusari the Perverted Peltast.”

“Who are you talking to? I don’t know anyone by—”

A deafening roar hurls a 60-caliber angel killer past You’s ear and beyond the horizon. For some reason, the sound of death falls to hundreds of deaf ears below, not that it concerned either. “I promise the next round will go through your head unless you TALK,” snarled a furious Yoshiko.

The time for charades has come to an end. Nothing holds You back from breaking out in laughter, which also falls to deaf ears, after coming close to death. The smoking barrel stays aimed at her basking in the satisfaction of the thought of her own demise. Save for a few loose screws, no human should ever feel about death in such a manner, all the confirmation Yoshiko needs.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re too serious, Yocchan?” You chuckled.

“So it _is_ you, Yusari,” Yoshiko put away her gun. “But I saw you die in the Meadowlark.”

“Oh, you mean _that_?”

“Explain yourself, lest I cut this conversation short.”

“Fine, fine, just let me get out of these clothes first.”

The same dark energies and chains from beyond break You free of her mortal shell. Pieces of her uniform fizzle into nothing amidst the malevolence. The sensation of restraint sparing no nook and cranny elicits a howl of pleasure, more so as the chains light up in dark flames. A different black dress, yet just as daring, now protects her body alongside a spear tinted black as the wings that reveal her true self. The renowned Perverted Peltast appears just as Yoshiko pictures her in several nights of anguish.

“If not for the need to blend in, I’d pick this form anytime,” says Yusari, fresh from a transformation she has grown to love. “It’s your turn now, Yocchan.”

“I refuse,” a sheepish Yoshiko turns her back. “Besides, I never told you to transform.”

“No fair, Yocchan! That’s what you told me.”

“I told you to show yourself, not change.”

“Serious as always. You really need to cut loose.”

“Enough. I will ask and you WILL answer. Understand?”

The fatal blade that day told the truth: Yusari fell in battle and pleaded Yohane to live on. It hardly changed the latter’s verdict by the delegation of warmongers: disgrace still hounds her to this day. The overlords of discord, however, deemed it necessary to breathe a second life into one of their best warriors. Not into the original body but a hollow clone, a matter that divides the faction more than the rogues running wild. Gone are the memories of close friends before the ill-fated Meadowlark mission. Gone are the days of watching each other’s backs even as the universe descends upon them. The Yusari facing Yoshiko now is hardly worth a dollop of trust.

And what of Yusari’s business in Yohane’s hunting grounds? “Can’t an old friend pay a visit and say hello?”           

“Make of it what you will, but I know a lie all too well,” Yohane glared.

“Harsh. You’re definitely _my_ Yocchan.”

“And you are NOT the Yusari I know.”

Knowing nothing of tact and mercy, Yusari plays her hand without regrets. A grim tone accompanies the eyes of a schemer. “I’ve come here to keep an eye on you, Yocchan.”

“On me?” replied Yoshiko.

“I’d be careful about the friends you pick if I were you.”

“What?”

Yusari relishes in bearing grim news, to a friend no less. Looking down on the few ants left to crush in her twisted mind, she picks out the redhead with ease. “That girl…Riko-chan, is it? Be done with her. Your task demands it.”

“And why should I do that?” Yoshiko retorted.

“Do you want the Black Hand to chop your wings off? They know what you’ve been up to, Yocchan. They _always_ do.”

“Do you take me for an elfin? I am aware of that fact.”

“Then why waste time on that mortal? She’s a hindrance.”

A hard pill chokes Yoshiko, much to her fellow fallen angel’s delight. She finds herself at the same crossroads days prior, weighing the options of sparing or killing her sole witness. The Black Hand’s grasp tightens around her neck the longer she remains silent on the matter. No more than a blade down an incompetent throat is enough to end a fallen angel’s chance at redemption. In this case, a tainted spearhead through the neck may suffice.         

Yoshiko’s silence denies her of an excuse. Riko may just end up dead this time, at the hands of three words: sadistic, self-promoting, and spiteful. Making matters more confusing is the sudden burst of laughter from Yusari. “I’m just joking. I know you have plans for that Riko girl.”

But it does little to diffuse the tension adrift. “What do you mean?”

“After all, you’ll need friends to fit in somehow. Acting like a loner will only raise eyebrows.”

“You…make a valid point.”

“Just try not to get _too_ close, Yocchan.”

“I mean not to.”

Soon, another matter comes to mind, inserted between the lines. “Now that’s all settled, can I crash into your place for the meantime?”

“Just remember that the chocolate cake on the fridge is _mine_ ,” Yoshiko warned.

“Aye aye, old friend,” Yusari winked.


	6. Bittersweet Reunion

_So, Yocchan made a new friend? Riko-chan, is it? No matter. I’ll make sure to keep the two apart. And if that fails, we can always do this the bloody way._

_Yocchan will thank me later for this. The Black Hand tightens its grip on her slowly but surely. Its eyes and ears are all over the place, watching her every move. It won’t tolerate incompetence, especially from a disgraced fallen angel, and will go to ridiculous lengths to get the message across. She must focus on the task at hand. Otherwise, it’ll be the end for her._

_Call me a phony if you must. The real Yusari wouldn’t have it any other way._

\--Yusari’s journal, 7 days after arrival

 

Word from the abyss brings nothing new to Yohane’s ears. The conflict between harmony and discord rages on with a proportion of gains and losses. As demons and fallen angels lord over the enemy at the Burning Gate, they lose ground in the Meadowlark. They retake lost ground in the Meadowlark but at the price of the Burning Gate. The same story plays across time and space, the only gains for both sides being the stockpile of corpses left by savage skirmishes. Blinded by the promise of total victory, neither angels nor demons care for their comrades joining their kin in the stockpiles. They know nothing of loss mortals go through, for cloning breathes new lives onto old friends. Even the costliest victories and defeats mean nothing if the numbers of harmony and discord flourish again.

A slab of flesh over a ritual of infusing souls and the agony that follows makes for a duplicate down to the hair’s breadth of detail. A reconditioning regimen spanning for weeks or months grows a warrior of harmony or discord just as capable as the fallen, if not better. Free reign over the persona he or she wishes to assume counts as a privilege to the few that proved more than their weight in drachma. The warlords of both sides can afford the losses as long as the materials and the means exist. And with each clone, the flaws grow less noticeable. “Looks like the madmen have outdone themselves this time,” Yohane holds her partner’s arm close, admiring its fair complexion.

“I know, right?” Yusari chuckled. “Recently, they found a relic that allows a soul to transit into the body more smoothly. That way, they won’t end up like marionettes.”

“What of the memories of the original? Are they preserved?”

“Afraid not. The name and past life are the best they can do.”

“So, all those memories before that ill-fated mission…”

“Gone for good, I’m afraid.”

A hard pill to swallow for Yohane, but one she must. Her heart sinks before the new reality: the Yusari who fought by her side, battle after battle, is never coming back. The reiteration standing before her bears none of the good and bad memories. A charlatan on a futile journey to be the friend Yohane wants her to be, starting with a hug.

“Say, Yocchan,” Yusari whispered into her ear. “They gave me freedom to be what you want me to be. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”

“And what good would that do?” Yohane replied.

“We can relive the good old days. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Those days are gone.”

“Perhaps, but wouldn’t you do anything just to get them back? Even for just a day?”

Yohane falls deeper into despair, beyond the reach of a warm hug. Yusari resorts to the next warm alternative: undressing by hand. The attire granted to her by the abyss gives way to frilly lingerie blacker than the night above. A quick glance fixes Yohane’s gaze on the curves and edges of the flesh luring her in.

“Play with me, Yocchan,” Yusari stretches her hands out. The charm in her words breaks the stoic Guilty Barrel, staggering toward open arms. Desire takes full control of her, licking Yusari by the neck. The resulting tickle marks the opening act of a night to remember.

“How long has it been?” an entranced Yohane takes off her clothes, as well.

“My first time,” Yusari replied. “And you don’t hold back.”

“Are you prepared for what comes next?”

“It depends. Should I be scared?”

“You aren’t Yusari unless you’re scared.”

“If that’s how she plays, then I’m game.”

“Good girl.”

Lips full of passion meet, sparing no ounce to share. Free hands caress each other’s bosoms, yet Yohane takes it as low as Yusari’s panties. The resulting moan echoes more than the first, the second of many to grow louder through the night. Yusari retaliates in a similar fashion, but it emboldens Yohane to push harder. They close the world around them, including any unseen prying eyes.

Soon, playtime reaches the bed. Clean, soft fabric catches Yusari as she loses her lingerie to a bolder Yohane. An obedient little plaything, she gives in to a moist sensation tickling her honey pot. Rapid gasps feel like her soul being drained pint by pint, even more when Yohane goes for her breasts. Between these gasps, she screams for more. “Ah, Yocchan…”

“Feel good now?” asked Yohane.

“So this is…the power…of the Guilty Barrel.”

“Yusari would ask for something bolder.”

“Oh, that can be arranged. Play with me _more_.”

Two moist honey pots rubbing each other up and down whets each other’s carnal desires. The shaking plucks loose feathers from their wings, yet not enough to strip their wings to bare bones. Gasps grow more rapid as a sticky fluid spills out of their intercourse and on their flesh. Then, akin to a geyser awakened from a thousand-year slumber with minutes of making love, their pots erupt in a fountain of the discharge. Some of it lands close to their lips, which Yusari proceeds to eat with satisfaction. “Yocchan…I’m…I’m gonna…”

The pent-up pleasure breaks out, the girls shrieking into the night. Their wings spread out of the thrill of the moment. An exhausted Yohane collapses by Yusari’s side, the perfect spot to end the evening with a kiss. The valued few minutes of reliving the good old days, as Yusari puts it, felt like several eternities. What more would the fallen angels give up for such memories?

“Your friend must’ve been _very_ happy,” Yusari chuckled.

“I take that as proof of satisfaction?” Yohane replied.

“Very much. Looking forward to working with you, Yocchan.”

One more kiss, longer-lasting, seals the devil’s deal.

**~O~**

AS A FULL MOON is their witness, the fallen angels cuddle on top of sheets damp with their sweat and love juice. Pleasure has come and gone, yet moist fleshes continue to rub against each other in hopes of making the most out of the evening. Yohane, still gripped by the spell of the hot moment, sinks her head onto Yusari’s bosom. Her tongue cleans the fluid around the breasts, their owner not one to miss out on the orgasm. In return, Yusari smothers her hand in the fluid still left in Yohane’s honey pot, the latter twitching and moaning, and licks it off. Not even exhaustion from the first round can hold them back.

“Hey Yocchan,” Yusari said. “Can I tell you something?”

“What is it?”

The sweet air turns bitter before Yusari’s spear popping out of nowhere, lifting Yohane by the chin. “I’ve been ordered to kill you should you fail.”

With a blanket drenched in their love, Yohane withdraws from a romantic moment turned dour. Her chin catches the spear’s edge and bleeds during her haste to get away. “What do you mean, Yusari?”

Before her, the shameless Yusari feasts on the little blood on her spear. “Ah, Yocchan. Your blood is tastier than ever. Where have you been all this time?”

Yohane calls forth her Hellstorms amidst the faint scent of betrayal. “What is the meaning of this? What has the Black Hand tasked you with?”

“Like I said earlier, to keep an eye on you.”

“And you never said anything about killing me.”

“Now you know.”

Synonyms roll out of the messenger’s mouth as if a factory: disgrace, affront, and sacrilege to name the strong few. A fallen angel whose ruthlessness comes close to the level of the overlords but has no interest in following orders has no place among the demonic legions. Such a rascal belongs to sorties any sane demon will turn down on a whim, let alone at the company of a demon whose loyalty to the cause cannot be shaken by the universe.

“You’re aware of your mission here, right?” asked Yusari.

“Hunt down deserters,” answered Yohane.

“True, but that isn’t your real mission.”

After a reluctant silence, Yohane admits to the real reason for her story on Earth. “You need not spell it out for me. But the target has yet to appear.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Yusari replied. “Two heads are better than one, don’t you think?”

“Unless said second head is out to get mine, yes.”

“Oh, Yocchan, you’ve always been too serious.”

“You think you know me that well already, impostor?”

“Live with a fraud or spend eternity haunted by your failures. Your call.”

So much has been the derogation that Yohane’s sanity has reached the knife edge of killing Yusari outright. At the last minute, a rational mind prevails and urges her to put away her Hellstorms. “The real Yusari would turn down such a mission.”

Yusari seals any further discussion with a kiss. “It doesn’t matter. She’s dead. I’m the real Yusari now.”


	7. Green Eyes, Black Wings

_A minimum of five members is required in the establishment of a new school club. Teaching and non-teaching staff are excluded from the count._

\--Uranohoshi GHS student handbook, fifth edition

Section 5, Article VI: Extracurricular Activities

 

Staring into the abyss of crumpled juice boxes and drenched flyers, Chika battles a new breed of doubt in her. Hours of her handcraft sit at the bottom to its fate under expired fruit juice and occasional bird droppings. The fresh batch of handouts on hand falls on the layer of grime on the ground. All around her, the hidden heckles of her passing colleagues break the broken further. Where is a star-crossed dreamer to go now? What is she to do with hopes and dreams pent up waiting to be released? Such thoughts run amok, efforts to corral them futile.

Is it wrong to go after fleeting dreams? Perhaps the more appropriate query asks if it can be done at all. Not even the fool who begins picking up the pieces of her dreams knows. Some of the fallen flyers end up back in her hand while a sudden gust whisks the rest away. Almost another insult to injury, if not for one flyer that kisses Riko’s feet. She reads the flyer in all its glory: a pleasant mix of colors and characters sore hands have created. The vibrant text reading “Shine with us!” falls to disinterested eyes around her but not Riko’s. A good friend springs into action for another, turning over the flyer.

“Thank you, Riko-chan,” Chika accepts the gesture of kindness.

“How’s the recruitment going?” Riko asked, though it may as well be a given.

“Garbage,” Chika puts on a somber look. “They all just ignore me. Heckle, even.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Riko replied.

No words are necessary to describe the darkness wrenching Chika, still staring into the abyss. It grips her as if glass were paper. Her friend can only look on in silence until the unthinkable hits her. “Chika-chan, I’ll join the club.”

Chika’s eyes sparked to life. “Riko-chan?”

“I don’t know what to expect. But I’ll give it a try.”

“Riko-chan, do you mean it?”

“Of course.”

The surge of gratitude overwhelms Chika, robbing her of words to express them. All she can do is hug Riko out of the blue while shedding tears of joy. Riko wraps her arms around her friend in return. The School Idol Club finally has its first member. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Anything for a friend,” Riko replied.

“We’ll _definitely_ win Love Live now!”

“Chika-chan, calm down.”

As it loses its grip on one victim, the darkness finds another. Far enough to stay hidden but not out of sight, Yoshiko watches the drama unfurl with wincing eyes. Envy has no power over her but so does happiness. Any creeping hint of attachment gets swept away by her focus on the task  of making sure Riko’s mouth stays shut. This hardly dissuades the darkness from filling her and urging its comrades to take root. She walks away from the blooming friendship, passing by a smirking You.

“Heartwarming, isn’t it?” You said. Yoshiko stops but says nothing in response to the insult, not so much a glance. “Guess there’s no point hanging around her now.”

The silent treatment is brief. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Nothing. I just think they make a wonderful pair, don’t you?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than keeping me on a leash?”

“Well, skewering mortals sounds like my cup of tea.”

Yoshiko snaps and grabs You by the collar. “You know the laws governing neutral realms. Their denizens are NOT to be touched.”

“Like sentencing those three mortals to death for rape?”

“What?”

“Like I said, the Black Hand knows all.”

The hypocrisy behind the Guilty Barrel’s actions that day seeps in as would poison to an open wound. The futility of taking her anger out on a fellow fallen angel convinces her to let You go. She had defeated her own advocacy of not touching neutrals with the rescue of a human of as much concern as dust in the air. She looks away in disgust.

“You’ll thank me once this is all over, Yocchan. And I won’t ask for more than your undivided attention,” You leaves Yoshiko, who snaps back to the budding duo from a distance, only to find them gone. The angst that follows suit is real.

**~O~**

FOR THE FIFTH TIME, the sun sinks before a lone Yoshiko heading home. Not through the usual city block of trouble this time, as she has known Yusari long enough to steer clear of her playground teeming with rogues. The unfortunate few that stumble upon her dark spear will see no mercy from a fallen angel willing to kill one of her own, as Yohane herself would. The route into the suburbs will go around the block, away from the troubles that plague her, albeit a longer road.

One particular trouble stays with her, the kind that turns even the blackest of fallen angels green. The sight of Riko and Chika together now revolts her, a telltale sign. At every chance she sees the disgusting pair together, be it sharing lunch or today’s lectures, she turns her back on them from a safe distance and walks away. At every chance, she turns down offers to talk over a cup of tea. Whether Riko or Chika sees and feels her resentment matters little. This may work to her benefit, finally detaching her from all feelings toward a certain redhead. Yet, five days of tolerating a revolting sight adds to her burden instead of taking it away.

A quick stop at an old temple may just give her the closure she needs. Amidst the turmoil of the city infested with rogues, Yoshiko finds peace on sacred grounds littered with fallen leaves. One falling leaf elicits a cruel metaphor: once a proud angel falling from the sky, only to fall deeper below the earth, both caused by disgrace. The leaves are fated to be swept aside and disposed, adding pain to the metaphor.

Be it by coincidence or sheer irony, Hanamaru enters the grounds in a shrine maiden’s outfit and a broom on hand. “Yoshiko-chan?”

“Zuramaru,” greeted a nonchalant Yoshiko.

Mortal eyes more than suffice to see what troubles the fallen angel. “Passing by here means that there’s something bothering you, zura.”

“I won’t try to hide it. Some _things_ are bothering me.”

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Other than a yes or no, I don’t think so, zura.”

By the steps, they sit and watch the last minutes of the sunset, redolent of the day Yohane descended as Yoshiko. A temple of aging wood and fabric amidst a jungle of concrete and steel, for reasons unknown, attracts all sorts of energies. It has become the place where light meets darkness and no more, not a moment of fighting tooth and nail as sworn enemies. Even with the blessings of the gods, a mortal like Hanamaru would know nothing of such meetings. All that matters to her is a troubled Yoshiko on her doorstep. The bookworm’s wisdom springs into action.

Yoshiko makes no effort to hide the truth but short of revealing her true form. Once again, she hides names under generic aliases. The “ginger one,” as she names Chika, has entered the redhead’s life. Now with a reason to stay at school a little longer, the redhead spends more time with the ginger one. Yoshiko turns away at every sight of the two exchanging chuckles and thoughts. She wants none of the feeling of being set aside. “Someone please take it away,” she calls out.

Hanamaru has heard enough. “Yup, you’re jealous. Not good at all, zura.”

“What do I do then?” Yoshiko asked.

“Are you serious? You’ve been running away from the solution this entire time.”

“What are you saying, Zuramaru?”

“Just because a friend has another friend doesn’t make you less of a friend. You’ve been so green with envy that you refuse to talk it over.”

Arguing with Hanamaru at this point is asking for more trouble for Yoshiko’s towering pile. Keeping the rest of her words as afterthoughts, she shrugs in the face of a much-needed sermon, which lasts long enough for dusk to give way to night. For all her ferocity in battle against otherworldly creatures, the fallen angel barely holds a candle to sinister feelings such as envy and resentment. And who can possibly blame her? Angels and demons have little to no concern for instincts born out of a flawed existence. If this is the case, does this mean Yoshiko—a fallen angel in a mortal shell—is a flawed existence? Perhaps the gap between mortals, and angels and demons may be closer than anyone thinks.

The lamp beside them sheds light on their conversation, with Hanamaru’s question marking the climax. “What do you want to do, Yoshiko-chan?”

Yoshiko spares no detail answering that. “I want to be by her side. I want us to stay friends.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“More than anything.”

Without turning her head around, Hanamaru smiles and calls out to a figure in the darkness. “Did you get all that?”

The melody of rustling grass and stone slabs knocking under a pair of soles echo in the night. Dim light on the sacred grounds lifts the veil behind the source of the sounds, to Yoshiko’s surprise. Every word of the exchange reached Riko’s ears.

“I didn’t know you felt that way, Yocchan,” Riko said.

“Y-You!” cried Yoshiko, her gaze darting between Hanamaru and Riko.

“I came to Hanamaru-chan about you. You kept running away before we could even talk.”

“Well, that’s because…I…”

“It’s my fault. I couldn’t stand Chika-chan doing her best, only for no one to appreciate it. I had to do something.”

“That’s not…that’s not what…”

“I don’t think you as less of a friend now. Never did and never would.”

As the shrine maiden and the temple’s deity their witnesses, Yoshiko and Riko hold hands as assurance of their friendship. They have Hanamaru to thank for clearing up their respective clouds of doubts.

“Yocchan, become a School Idol with me,” Riko said.

“I’ll think about it,” Yoshiko replied, although her smile may as well imply otherwise.


	8. Taboo

_My strength wanes. The light within me is failing._

_How many years have passed since we fled the never-ending conflict of light and dark? How has our decision worked in our favor…or detriment? As we walk among the denizens of this realm, the fear of retribution persists. It might only be a matter of time before the conflict engulfs this realm, as well. When that time comes, my soul will have been all but lost. I shall not be able to protect her._

\--Excerpt from Adamia’s mind

 

Chika’s exhilaration breaks out of its shell, spilling all over the three members facing her in bewilderment. Teary eyes widen, tears roll down her face but not to be mistaken for sorrow. In open arms, she envelops the girls in blissful warmth. Although puzzled by the sudden burst of joy, the girls smile with her. There can be no greater happiness for the young dreamer than to catch her dream by the tail and pull it back with help from her friends.

Lest risk disappointment killing the dream before they begin, Riko confides to the girls one more obstacle now. “Hold up, we’re still one member short. If we’re forming this club, we’ll need five members.”

“She’s right, zura,” Hanamaru said. “And the Student Council President is more or less a stickler for rules.”

But their reservations falter under Chika’s contagious enthusiasm, which has all but flooded the club room. “Don’t worry, girls. Once others see how hard we practice, Member Number Five will find her way to us.”

“Chika-chan, that’s too optimistic. Even for you,” Riko said.

“A little positivity never hurt anyone,” Chika replied. “Now come on! We got work to do!”

Amidst the elated chatter, Yoshiko shifts her attention beyond the room. The usual traffic of students around the courtyard interests her as much as the mortals’ affairs. Her scowl, hidden from busy eyes, hints at a predicament she refuses to share.

Riko takes notice of Yoshiko’s displeasure. “Yocchan, what’s wrong?”

She releases her scowl and the matter that makes it so for now. “Nothing.”

“Are you angry because you felt like we forced you to join?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I only joined to keep an eye on you.”

“Ha, ha, works for me.”

“What about you? Did you only join to make your friend happy?”

“If you do your best, it’ll make _everyone_ happy.”

The fallen angel digresses without a word. The idea of donning her scowl again leaves her mind. One of many lessons of friendship speaks to her heart, one that she wished—in secret—she had learned a long time ago. Still, doubt lingers as she makes sense of a concept she has only begun to learn with a friend’s help.

“Don’t worry,” Riko offers a pat on the back. “You’ll understand eventually.”

“Why couldn’t it be much earlier?” mumbled Yoshiko.

Over the first assembly of the School Idol Club, ideas cross among the ragtag group of four. Chatter and laughter fill the room still scarred by articles of the past user, blanketed by a layer of dirt. An indifferent Yoshiko makes no effort to keep up with the conversation, but a smiling Riko next to her encourages her otherwise. All eyes soon turn to Yoshiko, invoking the faux Yohane who vows to lend her power in this strange aspiration. Not the answer the girls are expecting, but it marks a good start for Yoshiko’s learning curve of friendship to come.

The merrymaking inside the room shrouds a pair of pigtails peeking low behind the wall. As interested as she is scared, she stays low while fleeing the scene.

**~O~**

THE GENTLE RUSTLE of a field of flowers and grass, stretching as far as the opposing sky, howls with the breeze making it so. An aura of peace reigns across every square inch of precious flora and fauna, far from the cares of all life. Ivory lilies and blood zinnias frolic under the soft sunlight and the shadows of clouds pushed by the wind. Winged creatures of all sorts flutter and soar without a care in the world.

A patch of the lush knoll bears the weight of an angel and a demon cuddling under the calm. A surreal sight for sworn enemies to enjoy each other’s company this close, but aside from the birds and the bees not a witness can be found. The angel strokes the demon’s ruby hair as the latter cuddles the former’s bosom to their heart’s content. Their arms and legs lock them in a warm embrace. A random gust masks the sound of their dialogue, never to be heard by any other than themselves. They need not be reminded of the taboo they share, the reason for choosing this as their retreat from the savage fighting. The tragedy of their story has yet to unfold but will unfold nonetheless.

Then, reality returns to the confines of the student council room. The utopia, the envy of all desires, gives way to solid floors and shelves of documents. The picturesque view of the garden is reduced to a window featuring the distant sea and sky. The taboo of angel and demon coexisting exists as but an afterthought. And the victim of this ruse, Dia Kurosawa, wakes up.

“A dream…why now?” Dia rids her eyes of the Sandman’s sand. In front of her, the tower of paperwork demands that she fulfills her sworn duty. “Whatever. Let’s get this pile done.”

Racing footsteps outside draws her attention to the door. The pair of pigtails, her sister Ruby, enters the room out of breath but not out of enthusiasm. “Onee-chan, the club! We have a club now!”

“What do you mean?” replied a puzzled Dia.

“They have a clubroom now,” Ruby continued. “That must mean the School Idol Club has been approved. I’m so happy!”

“What are you talking about, Ruby? I haven’t approved anything of the sort.”

“You…haven’t?”

“At least five members are required to start a new club. No exceptions.”

“Oh. I see.”

The no-nonsense Dia and the passionate Ruby: two polar opposites but with a common blood running through their veins, at least by human standards. Their wings all but have no place in the world they now call home. The city of mortals is as much as they can ask for a life away from the cycle of conflict, but soon Adamia the Resolute and the Elfin Demon Ruberi may be called to battle once more.        

“Ruby,” Dia warned. “I forbid you from joining that club.”

“What? But don’t you like school idols?” Ruby argued.

“That’s not the reason. Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“Its members. Some of them _aren’t_ human.”

“So what if they’re just like us? What if they also want to live in peace?”

“I doubt it, especially the Guilty Barrel.”

A former agent of discord, Ruby shivers at the mere mention of infamy. Not that she has met the disavowed fallen angel in person, but stories of Yohane’s cruelty among angels and demons alike have taught her fear. “But still…”

“Ruby, have you forgotten? Why we are here? Why we have chosen this life for ourselves?”

“I haven’t, onee-chan. But still…I want to cling onto that small hope.”

“And what if hope betrays you?”

“Well, I…I…”

“Those who you say desire peace? They will wait for the right time to pursue their agenda. If that happens, even this peaceful realm will be engulfed in the very conflict we’re fleeing from. Tell me, Ruby, do you want that to happen?”

The consequence of Ruby’s naiveté flashes in front of her: scenes of a once-beautiful pasture soaked in the broken blades and blood of the fallen. The patch of knoll where she and Dia waste endless days at each other’s company becomes the venue for a duel to the death. Their injuries take their toll as the flames around them burn swathes of the flora and fauna they have loved as if their own. Ruby winces at the shrill of the fallen, as well as her sister’s words: _Do not make me hurt you, Ruberi._ The flashes blitz past only to leave an unbearable headache in their wake.

Dia knows what imagery has haunted her. “The first time is one time too many, Ruby. And you know it.” She walks up to Ruby hoping to comfort her but falls to the latter’s arms instead.

“Onee-chan!” cried Ruby.

“It seems…the light within me is fading,” Dia muttered, drained but far from clutches of death. “How long has it been?”

“Onee-chan, you’re not gonna perish. Your mortal form will live on.”

“When it does, I won’t be able to protect you. I’ll become a helpless mortal.”

“Don’t say that! You’ve done so much for me.”

“It’s not enough. I’ve brought you so much pain on that fateful day.”

“Onee-chan—”

Dia seals her sister’s lips. “Please, Ruby. At least let me have this.”

An angel or demon straying too far from its source of power for too long will perish, unless the reach of harmony or discord expands into the realm. Traitors in the eyes of their kin, the sisters only see death in a change of heart and return to the fold. The lives they had are gone and the worlds they once called home had moved on without them. All that remains are each other’s company and their dying souls.

Two deep desires wells inside Ruby, one to save the dying Adamia and the other intimate in nature. After a deep breath, she gives in to the taste of her sister’s luscious lips, a gush of wetness following suit. A brief parting shows the stream of white fluid bridging the gap between their gasps for more, some spilling onto their uniforms.

“Ruby…” said a stunned Dia.

“Take my power, onee-chan,” Ruby grins.

And took her power Dia did, pulling her close for a longer kiss. More of Ruby’s power flows down her throat with every gulp. A brief parting to catch their breath, then they caress their lips once more. Pressing their mouths, the sisters confine themselves to each other’s arms, the world turning a blind eye to the taboo. The satisfying surge filling Dia seals her commentary, captivated by the moment Ruby pins her arms to the floor. From a steady stream, the radiant glow of an angel’s lifeblood chokes Dia, who makes no effort to break away. Ruby’s knee pushing up her sister’s skirt adds to the pleasure, also the desperation of saving her sister’s soul.

As to why a demon carries angelic blood in her, the question never crosses their minds.

Finally, Ruby lifts her kiss away, trails of the radiant lifeblood in the wake of their mouthfuls. Weakness grips them as they rise up. Incessant gasps replace the silence of the room. “There, a few weeks’ worth,” an exhausted Ruby wipes the fluid from her mouth.

“You didn’t have to do that, Ruby,” Dia wipes off her own share of the blessing.

“There was no other way, onee-chan.”

“But you’ll lose your demonic self if you keep this up.”

“Like I said, our mortal forms will live on. Besides, I don’t mind becoming a mortal.”

Dia irks at her sister’s naiveté. “Don’t take such decisions lightly, Ruby. You can never return once you discard your existence as an angel or demon.”

“I know that. And I’m not taking this lightly either.”

“Is that a fact?”

“As much as my desire to join the School Idol Club.”

A gasp of disbelief, and the older sister protests. “Ruby, stop this nonsense—”

“Onee-chan, PLEASE JUST GIVE ME THIS!” Ruby runs off, tears conjured by the feeling of betrayal dotting the floor with the glowing fluid. A bitter aftertaste sets in on Dia, not in the mood to persuade Ruby any further. In her mind, she wonders about the price of taboo in exchange for their salvation, images of her bloodied hands carrying a battered Ruberi crushing her.

“This is what you wanted. Right, Ruby?”


	9. Target of Opportunity

_This realm continues to reveal its beyond-the-pale nature with little to no closure. As I prepared to return to the island, I bore witness to a hoodlum who wrestled an old woman’s purse away. Unable to bear such a sight, I gave chase and put the knave in his place. Upon returning the purse, however, the old woman scowled and told me to “mind my own business.”_

_No words can describe my bewilderment. How can the few who choose to abide by a code of honor live in a world that shuns their efforts? Why did that old woman tell me to mind my own business? Clearly her buckling knees and frail arms are in no condition to give chase, let alone resist the crime. As I chronicle this entry, the baffling experience has made me question the requisites of “justice.”_

\--Excerpt from Dectera’s journal

 

Assassin and target no longer defines the relationship between the Guilty Barrel and the mortal of her eye. Days see smiles and laughter replace sentencing mortals to death, if not threatening them, in the fallen angel’s mind. The staccato of her steep learning curve in dancing blends with the jubilant mood around her newfound friends, rarities in the chaotic realm. Every trip and fall hardly feels like shattered pride, the rest of the group laughing before offering a helping hand up. When paired with Riko, the learning curve mellows as Yoshiko matches her move for move. The seamless routine amazes the girls, as if witnessing a pair of twins finally reuniting after so long. A roar of accolades follows, as well as an eeriness that fills Yoshiko’s mind. _What is this feeling of appreciation? It feels so…warm. I have never felt anything of the sort before. Perhaps this is routine to mortals?_ She has no idea how to respond to such emotions, but she returns a smile for making her feel all but expendable.

The green-eyed monster known as envy no longer holds Yoshiko’s soul for ransom. Fleeing from the hope welling up inside its former victim, it searches in desperation for another to feed on. As fate would have it, envy finds a new home in You, whose odium for Yoshiko’s budding social life finds to its liking. The shadows shroud her disdain for the path her fellow fallen angel has taken, no less for the redhead that coerced her into doing so. _This is unbecoming of Yocchan_ , her outraged mind speaks for nobody but herself to hear.

You leaves Yoshiko to the company of her friends for now. Yet, make no mistake that she yields to the status quo. “You’re making a big mistake, Yocchan. And I’ll make you realize that.”

So enters the Perverted Peltast’s hidden asset: her cunning. Deceit matched by perversion as her enemies lucky enough to live tell the tale. Hidden from wary eyes, she looks around the city for something or someone to use. Even rogues fit the criteria, albeit regardless of the outcome their fate of death remains. An innocent youth tied to his balloon makes for effective bait, his parents expendable in the scheme of things. Her eyes see nothing but tools to her benefit, be it on Earth or beyond.

Everything except herself.

Deep in thought about formulating the perfect plan, You falls prey to a thief who wrestles her bag away. Not that she had anything of value inside, but lowlifes leave a bad taste on her mouth, let alone one who manages to touch her. With a craving for a poor soul’s agony, she gives chase hoping to find a secluded place for her to pass judgment. In broad daylight and in a crowded block, giving chase as Yusari may as well be throwing a wrench in her own plans.

Fortunately, a Good Samaritan comes as the next best thing, throwing down the thief and all hopes of his clean getaway. She keeps the thief pinned down long enough for You to retrieve her bag and patrolling police to take the criminal away. The cascade of good fortune smiling over You almost feels staged to her taste. “Thanks for the save,” You said.

Her savior, a fair lady of words shorter than her ponytail, walks away. “It’s nothing.”

“Hey, where are you going?” You calls out to her to no avail. Not once does the latter stop to turn around to accept gratitude. “Huh. What’s _her_ deal?”

An old man is more than glad to answer in the lady’s stead. “Ah, looks like she did it again.”

“Again?” asked You.

“She always seems to be around when crime happens. One time, she got my cane back from a bunch of thugs beating me with it. I’m indebted to her.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Oh yes. Although we don’t know how she does it. Magic, maybe?”

“Is she limited to petty crimes?”

“As far as I know, yes. But there are rumors that she stopped a murder a while back.”

“That…sounds too good to be true. Even for someone like her.”

“Well, don’t take my word for it. Ask around and be surprised.”

Indeed, the next step is to ask around for more details. Judging by the schemer’s smug, You may have just found her tool.

**~O~**

THE SUPPOSED MORTAL known to denizens as Kanan appears as a means to the fallen angels’ end. Even with a strong sense for justice, a mere human cannot hope to thwart crime with flawless timing. Without a lead worth its weight, however, all that the agents of discord can work on are mere assumptions. Unfortunately, Yusari fancies long odds the same way she takes delight in Yohane’s blood. “So, Yocchan, up for an angel hunt?”

“How certain are you?” asked Yoshiko in reply.

“Can’t tell. Nobody can. But nothing will happen if we don’t take the plunge.”

“Heads _will_ roll if this plan of yours goes awry.”

“Don’t worry. If that happens, we can always be cloned back to life.”

“Terrific. Do you expect me to laugh?”

“Ha, ha…it’s joke.”

Not that Yoshiko’s reservations hold any value as they arrive at their favorite spot to do battle: the isolated city block. Caught between treading lightly and appeasing her chaotic overlords, Yoshiko has no choice but to accede to the uncertainty that lay ahead, You’s grin adding to the cringe. Under the cover of darkness and no eyes other than their own, the girls enact their simple plan. “You ready, Yocchan?” You asked.

“As if I have any other choice,” Yoshiko wrestles the school bag from You’s grasp and runs off into the pitch black landscape.

“H-Hey! Get back with my bag!” a shocked You gives chase. All is make-believe, however, save for the smug she saves for the finale.

The chase falls short of a full mile, as their wanted guest catches the “thief” by the hand and throws her down. The bag hits the pavement hard, the perpetrator even harder. You catches up just in time to realize that she owes her savior a second time.

“Whatever’s inside your bag, it’s attracting a lot of evil,” Kanan jokes as she hands over the bag. “Try to hold on to it a _little_ tighter next time.”

“Thanks again, Kanan-san,” You returns a smile.

“It’s nothing…wait, how do you know my name?”

“Oh, you’re quite the individual around here…and beyond.”

“What’s that—?”

Beneath her feet, a surge of malice bursts in a bouquet of spears, pikes, and halberds. Kanan jumps away but not without taking a few grazes to her flesh and torn clothing. She barely gets a brief respite from a scenario turned hideous as a Hellstorm barrel breathing down her nape, an evil caliber poised to blow her head clean off. “If you value your life, I suggest you stay still,” the gun’s wielder scowls, especially at the faint scent of hallowed light on her victim.

Reality unfolds quickly for Kanan, wearing a scowl of her own. All the evidence her enemies needs manifests in her reply. “Servants of discord…what business do you have in a neutral realm?”

“I should ask you the same question,” Yoshiko moves the barrel closer to the nape.

“Give me one good reason to answer to a murderer.”

“Murderer?”

“Don’t play dumb, Guilty Barrel. Because of you, I no longer have a family to return to.”

“Family? What are you mumbling about?”

Spear on hand, You threatens to slit Kanan’s throat unless a change of subject is in order. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead with stories of our lives. We’re not here to kill anyone tonight.”

The irony of the scene makes for an acrid aftertaste in Kanan’s mouth. “You think that will make me feel better?”           

“Maybe not,” You answered. “But perhaps my offer will.”

“Offer?”

“Listen to us,” and thus, the true purpose of Yohane’s descent discards its guise of hunting rogue demons. A dash of flattery adds to an offer unheard of among angels and demons: swaying an angel to the cause of discord. Casted from the heavens for a crime, fallen angels qualify to speak of the hypocrites up above that caused their fall from grace. Whether or not they claim to speak the truth is not for the speakers to press forth but for the listener to discern. In this case, the hypocrisy of the angels fear Yusari’s growing prowess and sees Yohane’s matchless beauty as the cause of envy. And for such absurdities does hypocrisy cast the angels to a fate of vengeance, finding their means among the ranks of discord.

But the fallen angels are given no chance to persuade Kanan any further. Hallowed light bursting from Kanan’s feet pushes the fallen angels away, along with the ruse that she sees with ease.

“You may deceive a normal angel with your words.” The rest of Kanan’s torn clothes dissipate in the flash. “Not a Dominion of harmony.”

Her exposed flesh bathes in the light, a welcome pleasure after years of keeping a mortal guise. Just as chains bind a fallen angel, ribbons wrap her nakedness with great care before turning into the angel’s will. A pair of glistening gauntlets matches the greaves, a breastplate protects her pure heart, and a skirt bares her right leg and blankets the left. Wings white as the surrounding light burst from their mortal shell. On her right hand, a retributor’s hammer sparks with the power of a hundred storms, the soul of a warrior forsaken hungering for judgment. The Dominion hovers scant inches above the pavement, standing ready to battle those not dissuaded by her transformation. Instead, the fallen angels freeze in awe in anticipation of a skirmish on a scale that might destroy half the city block.

Strangely, You grins at the turn of events. “So…this is where you’ve been. Dectera of the Ninth Dominion.”

“Seeker of the Right? This is no time to be joking!” cried Yoshiko.

“I-I’m not. This is awesome! A high-level angel… _in the flesh_!”

“The commander told us to disengage from battles involving Dominions or higher!”

“And miss this chance of a lifetime? No way!”

“Yusari, stand down!”

Against her partner’s wishes, You calls forth the fallen angel inside her to do battle. Instead of landing the first blow, Dectera waits for her opponent, unfazed by the sheer malice before her. In the chaos of the moment, Yoshiko is thrust into the urge to aid a fellow fallen angel, no matter how the latter’s antics make her think otherwise. The stage is now set for a battle of two-to-one odds.

“Okay, Miss Seeker,” Yusari takes her stance. “If words won’t sway you, then we’ll do it the hard way.”

These odds may be enough for a Dominion, after all.


	10. Means to an End

_Since Yocchan joined the club, she’s been smiling more than ever. She still trips during practice, but she hardly takes her mistakes personally. For a while, in the company of the other girls, I forgot that she was out to kill me. Then again, I don’t think she thinks of me as a target anymore._

_I can’t wait to spend more time with Yocchan tomorrow. A few more weeks like this and she’ll be a good friend to anyone._

\--Excerpt from Riko’s diary

 

The city is dangerous at night, but the lack of hair conditioner cannot wait for the light of dawn. A quick errand to the convenience store has Riko steer clear of unlit streets and the shadows that inhabit them. Under the welcoming light of the store, she pays for a fresh bottle as fast as she leaves with it. Her head swivels for bad feelings nearby, the ring of males in loose ties and puffs of smoke encouraging her to return home fast. After all, not too long ago she was on the business end of lascivious hands, murder perhaps to follow. The tense look toward gatherings of delinquents and persons of interest shows, tightening in the presence of more groups along the way. Not one goes after her, but she prefers not to leave her apparent unrest to chance.

Then, from the memory of a horrible ordeal comes a flicker of hope: the pair of black wings that saved the day. Her tense look mellows upon recalling how a fallen angel, a creature bent on sparing mortal and non-mortal alike no quarter, chose to give her another chance at life. It dawns on her: _Why did she choose to spare me? She could’ve simply killed me and be done with it._ But such thoughts pale in comparison with the fallen angel’s troubles. _Maybe she only wanted a friend, someone to look out for her. Whatever she was looking for, she probably saw it in me._     

“I’m thinking too much,” Riko shakes her head in disbelief. “The important thing is that Yocchan’s finally learning. I should get something to congratulate her.” But without any idea of her likes and dislikes, she prays for serendipity’s guiding hand.

And guide serendipity does to a chocolate cake on display, adorned with strawberries redder than her hair. The decadent pastry speaks out, as if holding the secrets to one of Yoshiko’s many facades. It comes with a price: every yen of Riko’s allowance for the week and then some. A sigh of despair follows a recount of the last of her money, not enough to even afford the smaller but as-elegant cake beside it.

Fortunately, serendipity blesses her with a better idea. “I know! I’ll make one for Yocchan!” The thought tickles her to the core. “It’ll be just as grand for half the cost.”

An elated Riko leaves the decadent cakes. Both heart and mind have decided on one thing: a chocolate cake with strawberries for Yoshiko from the ground up. If not to laud Yoshiko for learning a great deal about friendship, then a token of Riko’s gratitude for sparing her life twice. The forecast plays frame by frame: a cake for friends to enjoy and a strawberry for Yoshiko straight from Riko’s fork.

Her serendipitous joy endures throughout the return trip home, flooding her mind with ways to bake a cake and more ways to eat it with a friend. A random but sweet humming defines her mood, a far cry from the dread of minutes past. She has all but forgotten that the fallen angel holds her life by the thread, let alone the consequence of attachment with one. The naïve thought of teaching a fallen angel to be human hardly crosses her mind. If it does, she may pay no mind to it. _If it means getting Yocchan to trust anyone again, it’s worth anything._ She calms her wits as the front gate clicks open and welcomes her back. Yet, she freezes short of entering, as if grabbed by the invisible hand of a random situation from a distance. The bottle of conditioner drops from her hand as she strives but fails to regain control. The grip is too strong.

Not to mention accompanied by eerie voices. _I need aid…I need aid._.

Then, Riko starts running…away from home. “H-Huh? W-What’s going on?”

She keeps running toward an unfamiliar urge. Her words demand she turn back, yet her feelings—and the incessant call for help—urge her to run. As efforts to resist grow more futile with distance, she gives in to the call not her own. “Wherever you’re taking me…I hope it’s safe.”       Again, the isolated block plays host to a skirmish for Riko to see. From a distance, the staccato symphony of clashing steel and rapid burst of gunfire shatters the little peace this realm has left. The intensity of it all barely shows any sign of stopping.

Soon, Riko comes to a halt at the corner riddled with stray rounds. The sounds of battle blare too much for her ears.  Yet she peers around the corner, seeing a familiar face amidst the chaos. “Is that…Yocchan?”

After a few chance encounters, Riko cannot mistake the thunderous clap of Hellstorms unleashing its wrath upon their adversaries. But her first time seeing two others in the deadly tango, Yusari and Dectera, sows unease. The contrasting shades give Riko an idea of friend and foe. Regardless, only a mortal with a death wish want to bear witness to this fight. And Riko is no such mortal.

“I’ll only get in her way. I need to get out of here,” Riko begins her egress, apparently free to move her body once more. She barely gains distance from the danger before an epiphany stops her. “But…Yocchan may die. What should I do?”

Imagine her horrified look when a series of hammer blows almost seal Yohane’s fate. The fallen angel shrugs off the insult and flies back into the fight, guns blazing. Against a Dominion endowed with the gods’ blessing in her armor, the rounds capable of tearing a limb off bounce off without harm. Some pelt the corner to Riko’s terror, shrinking behind the wall out of instinct. Meanwhile, Yusari’s rain of spears stands a better chance of denting Dectera’s armor if not for her graceful dance weaving through the so-called “insults.” For a moment, fascination grips the battle’s lone spectator in the shadows..

An eternity of learning about the inherent goodness of angels and wickedness of devils, and one battle puts it all in doubt. Bound by such a norm and a bond between her and Yohane, Riko is torn between shunning the darkness and rooting for the fallen angel. The one-sided battle does little to allay her fears, as Yohane takes hit after hit from justice incarnate. The temptation of intervention whispers its words to Riko, but what can mere flesh and blood do?

She can stand idle no longer. With total disregard for her own safety, she rushes to Yohane’s aid…exactly the way the grimacing Yusari has planned.

“Yocchan, let’s pull out,” Yusari said.

“What?” Yohane replied.

“I’ve done my recon. She’s definitely too strong.”

“Finally, _someone_ gets it.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll cover your escape.”

“You _still_ want to fight her?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch up.”

Yohane barely gets any time to voice her skepticism at her partner’s change of heart, but she flies away. An unhurt Dectera gives chase, only to clash with a rearguard looking to dance some more. From a slew of portals to the void, a flurry of spearheads come the angel’s way, barely grazing her but keeping her in the battle. Dectera is astounded by the desperation but also emboldened to send Yusari flying with a swing of her hammer.        

Riko stops in disbelief as Yusari crashes scant feet ahead. “H-Hey, are you…okay?” She offers a helping hand, only to be refused by a slap. Meanwhile, unaware of Riko’s presence, Dectera charges head on for a decisive blow. Her hammer brims with a blue flame and rain of sparks.

Amidst her approaching doom, Yusari addresses Riko in a calm tone. “Hey, Riko-chan…”

“Wait, you know me?” Riko replied.

“Why don’t you just…die?”

“What?”

Before the final blow, Yusari takes to the skies and flees. Dectera realizes her treachery too late to stop her hammer from unleashing destruction. At point blank, the blast engulfs Riko in the manifestation of the angel’s spite. Pieces of her clothing fly off as her flesh is exposed to the burning flash, subjecting her to immense pain. A nearby wall crumbles as the blast sends her right through, landing on a patch of grass in an empty household. A horrified Dectera rushes to the mortal’s aid, the gravity of her blind rage slow to sink in. As she takes Riko and her grave injuries in her cradling arms, Dectera scowls at the night sky devoid of her enemies. “COWARDS!”         

**~O~**

A REFUGE OF TREES hides the limping Yohane and the wounds of a defeated warrior. In the dimness of the cordilleras, she winces at every twitch of her wings adding to the stinging burns across her torso. Swathes of her dress dangle by isthmuses of fabric, revealing the seared marks of the Dominion’s flame. Leaning against a trunk, Yohane rests her battered flesh and spirit, at least until Yusari returns hopefully not as hurt. A quick inspection of her guns reveals two empty magazines and no means of retaliation should headhunters pounce. The immense sum required to craft the rounds will only put a strain on Yohane’s life.

Nothing in the forest can tend to her wounds, much less alleviate the pain. Her mind, heavy with guilt, questions its own hesitation upon encountering Dectera for the first time. She cringes at her hypocrisy of her choice to engage despite having specific orders not to. She regrets not dragging her partner out of the battle and now pays the price for such. But soon her guilt and regret give way to memories of her partner she would follow to hell and back. The scars on her torso sizzle with the negativity that comes with the flashbacks, guilt and regret aside, sapping the little strength that she has. The new reality stands. The original Yusari is gone, so are the centuries of battle she and Yohane have shared. All that remains is her last words: _Yocchan…live…_

And the feelings return to guilt. Tears roll down without Yohane realizing it, a first for the Guilty Barrel to elicit an emotion. “Yusari…if you can see me now, I need your help.”

She receives one: a gunshot much like her own grazing past her ear. Again, her blood surges with the thrill of battle, especially against a threat in the shadows. Her wings crippled and under a hail of gunfire, Yohane raced for better cover on foot. She barely gets far when a lucky shot embeds itself between her legs, to which a howl of pain and pleasure fills the air of calm.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” replied the mystery assassin, probably a female given her voice. “I guess that stray round’s chomping at the bit there, huh?”

Yohane raises one of her guns at the darkness ahead. No harm comes to her adversary, just the clicks of two empty firearms. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

“In due time, Guilty Barrel. In due time.”      

“You…know me?”

“I know _all_ about you. My ancestors know _all_ of you.”

Between her words, Yohane’s orgasmic gasps echo. The stray round in her shuffles with her constant rubbing around the area. “What…what do you want?”

“Just your cooperation, Yohane-chan.”

“Who are you to make such an absurd proposal?”

The assassin chuckles. “What if I told you that the Black Hand’s playing you two for fools?”

"You must be desperate to die. Such foolish claims cannot persuade me.”

“Hee, hee…you’re right. I’m _that_ desperate. Why don’t you come to Awashima and kill me?”

“I can kill you here and now, foolish mortal.”

“Not while acting tough, I’m afraid. I’ll wait for you in Awashima. Come alone.”

“Wait a minute—”

“Ciao, bella!”

“Hey!”

No response. The person of interest has left Yohane with a bullet bringing suffering and satisfaction. As life and death wrestle for control, she shoves her rubbing hand deep into the house of her virginity. In and out her hand goes, an odd attempt to eject the lodged round. Her orgasm grows louder with a harder drive.        

The pleasure reaches its peak. The bullet finally flies out in a layer of viscosity, some slathering on her hands. Feeding on the fluid, she feels her strength coming back little by little.

The round, all but dissolved, ends up on her hand. No larger than the Hellstorm’s ordnance of choice, it elicits a stark realization. “A mortal bullet can neither harm an angel nor a demon. How did she…?”


	11. Yocchan and Riri

_Curse the heavens and their theater of angels!_

_We barely escaped with our lives fighting the Ninth Dominion. The scathing burns of Talion’s fury sear through mortal flesh. Hammer blows cripple my wings. The Hellstorms are all but out of rounds with no means of replenishment. For all their fearsome might, the rounds draw their power from my soul. And I cannot risk drawing from a battered soul if I am to continue the fight._

_It annoys me to realize that I must rest while the shadow war on Earth continues. Had Yusari not insisted on challenging Dectera to the death, we might have come up with a far better plan to subdue the angel. Her cunning should know better._

_Nevertheless, I cannot deny the result. Now we know that Dectera is the angel of the underworld’s desires. Now we know how she lays waste to her enemies. Retribution WILL be ruthless._

\--Yohane’s journal, 9 days after arrival

 

Riko-san’s not coming?” a worried Hanamaru loses her drive to finish her warm-up stretches. The significant other, Yoshiko, carries on with her second set and a pessimist’s care for the world. Neither Hanamaru nor Chika takes heed of her apathy, but the bleak news that follows sheds light on Riko’s absence.

“I got a text from her mother just now,” Chika explained. “Riko was badly hurt in a car accident last night. I was gonna drop by the hospital later, but Shima-nee asked me to watch the _ryokan_ tonight while she’s away. And Mito-nee’s on vacation with friends.”

“Sounds rough, zura.” “Ah, geez! And just when I’m all excited for our first show!”

“We haven’t even begun on our first song, zura.”

“That makes it worse.”

An accident, says the rumors. By no means is luring a mortal into the heat of battle a twist of fate, be it among mortals or the supernatural.  Riko is a victim of a fallen angel’s spite, her school idol friends none the wiser. Yoshiko’s apathy manifests in further stretching, yet aware of the price of attachment—to a mortal no less. A tight lip seals the faint desire to see Riko, perhaps the only option left to the girls. The eyes of her overlords, more vigilant on misdeeds than accolades, watch the Guilty Barrel from beyond the shadows.

“Someone PLEASE visit Riko-chan tonight! Anyone?” cried Chika.

Hanamaru somewhat picks up on Yoshiko’s apathy. “Yoshiko-chan, any plans tonight?”

“I…I need to be somewhere tonight,” Yoshiko turns her back on the two, albeit her jittery words easily pass off as blatant lies.

“Doesn’t seem that way, zura.”

“Maybe you should believe me for once, Zuramaru.”

“It’s hard to take you seriously with your whole ‘fallen angel’ business.”

“What _about_ my ‘fallen angel’ business?”

“Maybe Riko-san needs a ‘fallen angel’ in her life.” A reeling Yoshiko justifies the shrine maiden’s smug. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hit a nerve, zura?”

“I told you I need to be somewhere tonight!” “Sure you do. You’re always busy tending to your _little demons_.”

 _No, you’re wrong_. Yoshiko’s mind speaks, yet lacks the courage to spare no truth. Her tight-lipped rigidity resists the urge to drag her friends into her follies. Faced with peer pressure, she attempts to walk away with the truth. She attempts to save them from the underworld’s wrath, from her mistakes.

Out of nowhere and out of desperation, Chika traps Yoshiko in a hug that puts pincers to shame. “Yoshiko-chan, please!”

“H-Hey! Let me go!” the fallen angel struggles to break free, only to be met by a tighter hug. Unknown to her friends, Chika’s insistence irritates her burns from last night’s battle. “Owowow! You’re crushing me!”

“I won’t let go until you agree.”

“Why not another time, then?”

“Pretty please?”

“Why is this such a big deal to you?”

“Riko-chan is our friend. Of course it’s a big deal.”.

Between a vice-like hug and her wounds hidden from the mortal eye, the fallen angel finally relents. “Okay, okay! I’ll go visit Riri! Just let me go!”

A jubilant hug is in order, albeit it nearly breaks her back. “Oh, thank you! Thank you—wait, who’s Riri?”

“Ooh, Yoshiko-chan’s giving nicknames now,” Hanamaru giggled.

A flustered Yoshiko rebuts. “So it’s a crime to make friends easier to call now?”

“You do realize that ‘Riko’ and ‘Riri’ are just the same length, zura.”

“What’s your point, Zuramaru?”

Yoshiko watches her friends bask in victory, but any ill will toward them is short-lived. Instead of animosity, a reality all angels cast from heaven for any reason share, she finds an air of peace. Solace comes at the least likely source, the company of mortals and their respective quirks, invoking a welcome change from the cruelty. The bubbly Chika, the demure Hanamaru, and the kindhearted Riko—all of which she proudly calls her friends, not mere tools for her gain. And of the three, she has the redhead to thank. A simple visit may not hurt anyone, after all.

“Let’s get practice over with quick,” Yoshiko smirked.

**~O~**

THE DISTINCT HOSPITAL SMELL is to Yoshiko’s distaste as much as the bag of ripe oranges on hand. The loss of face that comes with the scent disrupting the fallen angel’s senses weighs on her. Such pettiness, however, pales in comparison to the desire to wish a friend to get well soon. Holding her head high and smile higher, she braves the corridors filled with the sickly scent. As she reaches the seventh floor, the closest to clear skies, the scent has all but wafted out the beeline of open windows. Only the fresh spring breeze lies between her and the end of the journey at the other end of the corridor.

Standing in front of the room, her pulse races even more. Doubt gives her one last chance to turn around, but she stands firm on the rugged mat. Beyond the door, an eerie aura—neither angelic nor demonic—keeps her from entering. The bag of oranges shakes with the hand holding it. The reason for fear to grip her at such a crucial time escapes her, but turning back is no longer an option. With courage, she makes her decision by knocking.

An annoyed Kanan answers the door a second later. “What are you doing here?”

The hospital is an ill-advised place to settle any score, but it makes up for it with the ease of treating battle scars. “I’m only here for a visit. I don’t plan anything with you…for now.”

“You have some nerve coming here, especially after what you have done.”

“For now, I am Yoshiko Tsushima. Not Yohane.”

Kanan turns her glare on the bag of oranges, fresh from the produce stand and free of spiteful curses. The gesture, noble as it is, changes nothing about the enemy before her. She offers a clear path to the sleeping patient. “Come in.”

Two pairs of eyes watch over Riko and her plethora of bandages: one of her caretaker obliged by guilt, the other of a dear friend unaware of the truth. Precious minutes trickle as she leaves the world to its business and the bandages to mend broken flesh. Neither of the girls needs to worry about the reaper coming for her, neither wishing for such a thing to happen too soon.

“How is she?” asked Yoshiko.

“Asleep, as you can see,” answered Kanan. “But the doctor says she’s no longer in danger.”

“That’s…great.”

Silence and a clenched fist, the dialogue takes a dark turn. “Have you no guilt?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop screwing around. Your treachery is to blame for all this.”

“Can you not talk in riddles? I have no idea—”

“Did that witch of a peltast not tell you?”

“Tell what?”

“That she used _her_ as a human shield to cover her escape?” Kanan points to Riko as the victim of the fallen angels’ treachery.

The ensuing disbelief makes Yoshiko drop the oranges. “What…did you say?”

One by one, the oranges move from Kanan’s hand to the bedside bowl. An orange in the bowl is a minute in the closing stage of last night’s skirmish, frame by frame. An orange in the bowl equals regret and anger for the sins of a kin. Denial has no place before an angel whose purview of justice matches nothing among countless realms. “Only your race relies on deceit. You know it to be true,” Kanan ends her report with the last orange topping the stack.

Yoshiko grips the bedrail, hoping to rebound from the revelation. Regret swells in her heart, anger more so. The little trust she has invested in Yusari, the little hope in seeing an old friend in her reiteration, is invested on schemes to harm the innocent. “Why…why did she…?”

“Deceit runs in that witch’s blood. Yours is no different.”

Riko wakes up to the drama unfolding. “What…what’s going on?” Imagine her shock upon a knee-jerk grab pins her shoulders, spared no quarter by the returning pain. “Y-Yocchan?”

The look of fear exposes Yoshiko’s desperation for answers. “Riri, did Yusari hurt you?”

“What? I don’t—”

“Riri! DID YUSARI HURT YOU?!”

Only tears. Only fear. “Yocchan…”

Kanan grabs Yoshiko by the hand in indignation. “What are you doing?!”

Yoshiko struggles to break free. “Get your filthy hands off! This is no business of yours!”

“Can’t you see she’s scared out of her wits?”

“I’m trying to help her!”

“With FEAR?!”

The sobbing of a girl all but broken in flesh and spirit stops the fighting. Cool heads prevail once more as Kanan lets go of Yoshiko, who proceeds to take Riko into her bosom and share the burden. The rest of Kanan’s tirades hold back as an unbecoming side of the Guilty Barrel unfolds. A few strokes of the head add to the comfort the redhead needs so much. One can imagine how praise and disgust swirl in response to such a scene. Regardless, Riko’s sadness is now Yoshiko’s sadness.

“Yocchan, I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Stupid Riri. I won’t forgive you if you die.”

Kanan walks out of the room, indifferent from the drama. This still changes nothing, but the fallen angel cares less for what her sworn enemy thinks. After all, she stands before her as Yoshiko Tsushima. Yocchan. Not Yohane.


	12. A Trickster's Folly (Part 1)

_I never told Yocchan that one of her kin tried to kill me. I didn’t think I need to, judging by how frantic she was for an answer. She left quietly after giving me a hug. Kanan-san, who clearly knows what’s going on, kept watch over me until my discharge. Before going our separate ways, Kanan-san told me to forget about everything. About angels and demons. About their never-ending war._

_About Yocchan._

_How could I?_

\--Excerpt from Riko’s diary

 

The goddess of fortune smiles down on the School Idol Club, besieged by hardships for the past few days. A volcano of utter joy ready to blow, Chika lunges toward Riko with open arms. She catches her prey in a vice-like hug, tears of joy drenching the bosom of her astonished friend. Her vocabulary, while a decent cryptic of relief and gratitude, drowns in a sea of sobs. In response, a motherly Riko makes gentle strokes of Chika’s head. No words can describe the sort of joy only seeing a friend alive and well can make. No words are necessary to let the rest of the group know such intense feelings, though Hanamaru tells Riko for good measure. “She’s been worried sick for days, zura.” All the more Riko prolongs her tender love and care, at least until the sobbing dies down.

“You look like you haven’t seen me in _ages_ , Chika-chan,” Riko chuckled.

Chika raises her head in response. “I can’t help it. _You_ try being in my shoes.”

“It’s not like I was ever in danger.”

“I don’t believe you. A car accident can be fatal.”

“Car accident?” a confused Riko looks around, noticing Yoshiko shaking her head “Right, a car accident. But I’m fine now, so it doesn’t matter.” A sigh of relief calms their nerves, a white lie to go with their purpose of protecting their mortal friends.

For all its tone and insistent exchange, the quarrel hardly passes off as one. Even as the topic reaches the upcoming quiz, which sows fear into the club leader, not so much as an ant has bothered to intercede. If they know their friends well, the rest of the club expects the banter to turn into subtle jabs at humor. Seeing Riko mingling with others, Yoshiko shrugs off the rascal known as envy as she would a flesh wound in battle. A smile Riko’s way prompts a like response in the spur of the moment, a visible pledge of their bond. No longer has Yoshiko any reason to fight unease at the sight of Riko’s social life in full bloom. In most cases, a flicker of joy replaces most of the unease.

The sunny disposition among the members nearly overshadows another reason to celebrate. A certain pair of pigtails suddenly finds herself being pushed toward the spotlight. The honor of marking her debut falls to none other than Hanamaru. “By the way, we have a new member, zura. Say hi to everyone, Ruby-chan.”

Silence defines her brand of timidity. Today is an exception, as the girls deserve a proper introduction. “I’m…I’m Ruby Kurosawa. It’s nice…to meet you all.”

Beneath her innocence lies enough resolve to ignore her sister’s warning, also an excess of self-doubt. Such worries are hard to ponder on in an air of joy, especially with the rest of the club smiling back.

“Welcome to the club, Ruby-chan!” Hanamaru hugs the club’s second redhead from behind, to the latter’s surprise. “Let’s have lots of fun together, zura.”

“I guess you’ve been busy these past few days,” Riko giggled.

“You have no idea, zura.”

“I guess you have to. Otherwise, the club won’t be approved.”

A confident Chika brandishes the application form with the blessing of the student council in the form of a red stamp. “Check this out. The president finally realizes the need for a school idol club.” Not knowing that she only did so for Ruby, who lacks the spirit to rectify the story.

“That’s amazing,” Riko gasped. “All this in just a few days.”

But Chika is far from done. “But wait, there’s _more_. We actually have _two_ new members.”

“Two, you say?”

“You bet your _mikan_.”

Impeccable timing introduces the sixth member, a shock to Yoshiko and—for some reason—much to the fear of Ruby. “Aye aye, mateys! It’s a beautiful day today!” A sloppy but adorable salute, a trait she recently picked up from sailors and not about to let go anytime soon, greets the club.

“Glad to have you, You-chan,” Chika beamed.

“Sorry for not joining sooner. I’ll make it up to you anyway I can.”

“No worries. We’re happy that you joined. We’re gonna win Love Live for sure.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, Chika-chan. But I’m with you all the way.”

Adding to Yoshiko’s alarm, Riko greets You with the same smile as with others. Before her is the fallen angel that sought her death, yet neither shock nor fear grips her. She has yet to choose to stay out of harm’s way, yet the identity of the assassin escapes her. In the darkness of night and the heat of battle, even as she came close to looking at her killer in the eye, Riko remains blind to the truth. And perhaps it would be wise that the truth be withheld amidst the merrymaking.

As the girls get into their first round of stretches, Yoshiko takes You aside. You shows her best smile, but her fellow fallen angel barely flinches. They follow Chika’s lead in the first round of stretches, after which the exchange starts under the sound of counting.

“You _never_ listen, do you?” Yoshiko starts. “You always bring your ulterior motives everywhere we go.”

“I’d prefer to call them ‘contingency plans,’ Yocchan,” You replied. “Pays to be prepared.”

“There’s nothing to be gained in killing Riri. If anything, you’ll set us back.”

“Why are you so fascinated with that girl? I’m clearly more beautiful than her.”

“Enough. Our target is the Ninth Dominion. Leave Riri out of this.”

An urge to laugh wells up inside You, nearly giving in to it. “Wait, you…you actually…wow, I can’t believe it.”

“What is it this time?” Yoshiko sighed.

“You actually thought that old hag was our target?”

“Those were _your_ words, not mine.”

“I suppose. I _may_ have forgotten to tell you one important thing.”

“That Dectera isn’t the target?”

“Okay, two important things.”

The rest of the exchange drowns further in the rhythm, never to be heard by anyone but the fallen angels themselves. The reactions, however, peer through the blanket of noise. Yoshiko’s eyes light up at a horrendous probable cause, much to You’s pleasure. None of the girls pay any close attention, not even Riko—the subject of their subtle exchange.

~O~

THE RUSE OF A NORMAL high school girl helps You set up a good front for her classmates, not to mention to her school idol friends. The sheepish, once preferring solitude over a social, give in to her brand of charisma. Soon, almost the entire class crowds around her followed by an avalanche of questions a new student is forced to answer. Where does she hail? Not the chasms of hell. Where does she live? Not crashing in Yoshiko’s place. Her hobbies? Not craving for the blood of enemies slain by her spear. Not as much as engaging in guilty pleasure, especially with Yohane. You masks her true self from the world quite well, but the questions never seem to stop.

“Settle down, everyone,” the first-period teacher walks in a casual fashion, her aura instilling enough discipline to send the students back to their desks. The rustle of a stack of papers sow fear among the class as much as her speech. “You have 40 minutes to complete this test. No quarter will be given to cheaters. You know who you are.”

The students, anxiety to go with their humor, call her the “teacher from hell.” Overhearing the moniker, You chuckles at the exaggeration. “You call her hell? That’s cute,” she murmurs.

Soon, the papers begin to move from desk to desk. The fretting students receive their share of the so-called torture, which You quietly finds amusing. The amusement is short-lived upon the realization of her misfortune to sit behind Riko, who passes the last piece of paper to her. “Here you go, You-chan,” Riko’s smile reciprocates a like response from You, but every fiber in the latter’s body urges her to end her life. _All in good time, Yusari. All in good time._ You accepts the paper and the annoyance before her. All in good time, indeed.

“Once you receive your paper, you may begin,” the teacher announces. The students all begin at once, the majority freezing at the enigma of the marriage of numbers and letters. No one will be expected to pass the test, not even You and Riko tackling it with cool efficiency, not even Chika being a total wreck on the first problem.

Precious minutes pass. Each student tries, some failing, to make sense of the challenge given to them. Chika’s eyes are glued to the paper, desperate to get at least one item right. Her attention drawn away, she cannot see the calm manner Riko tackles each problem despite limited success.

She also cannot see You and the schemer in her put their plan to action, flicking an eraser Riko’s way. Tumbling in midair, the eraser falls short of Riko’s desk but lands next to her foot. Regardless, the eraser has done its task of drawing her attention. She picks up the eraser and scans its sides for a name, only to find more letters and numbers written on the label.

Formulas. The eraser is a cheat sheet. The resulting gasp in shock catches the attention of the teacher from hell. “Sakurauchi-san?” she approaches Riko’s desk and confiscates the eraser. She has been branded a cheater, the entire class as witnesses.

“Teacher, I can explain,” Riko pleads, to no avail.

The teacher confiscates her paper, halfway done. “See me at the faculty office after class.”

“But—”

“No ifs and buts.”

Riko sinks her head in shame. No room to prove her innocence. Behind her, You holds back her euphoria, the pleasure that comes with seeing Riko suffer. Imagine the elation to follow when You puts the rest of her plan to action.


	13. A Trickster's Folly (Part 2)

Are you sure?” Riko asks a few girls from her class donning anxious smiles. Normally, classmates never shy away from a generous offer. Be it some help with ungodly mathematics or an afterschool request, tradition dictates that saying no is out of the question. However, today feels like an exception—if not a drastic change—to the tradition, much to her chagrin. The stagnating air adds to the tension unbecoming of a normal day at school.

“Don’t worry about it,” said one of the girls, her guilt all but showing through her crooked smile and darting gaze. “We can manage. Thanks for the offer, anyway.” No less guilty, the other girls behind her nod in agreement.

“But just a few days ago, you all seemed desperate for my help.”

Desperate indeed, not for Riko’s help. “That was then. This is now,” the girls bid adieu in a hurry. A disheartened Riko waves farewell in return as she sees her classmates off. A deeper probe into the strange refusal might only earn her their ire.

Along the corridor, students on recess train their disdainful gazes her way. Some mask hurtful gossip with smiles that hardly match their eyes, adding to her unease. Dare not as she might to find out the truth, the urge is impossible to suppress. Her pace quickens with her heart, a voice in her head urging her to refrain from answering the glares with her own. Not long ago, she enjoyed the warmth of almost the entire student body. Her heartfelt approach to various personas at the school helped her win friends, even at times when said approach backfired. _Why are they all looking at me like that?_ The echo inside her head pleads to never stop moving for even a second, even as the brisk walk turns into a full-blown marathon.

Several heart-pounding minutes later, she reaches the safety of sparse corridors, terrified at the hostility more than ever. The sources of the glares go about their school business but not without one parting glare her way. The palpitation finally dies down with steady breaths. Yet, the situation remains the same.

Perhaps the consequence of her alleged cheating in a quiz several days prior is finally beginning to show. In her defense, she insists that the cheating device—the eraser—in question is not hers, to no avail. Telling the teacher her side of the story might as well be talking to one who listens to no voice other than her own. The verdict of failure stands: Riko’s conscience must carry a guilt not her own.

Perhaps the peace of the comfort room might give her some closure. Not a scornful student or teacher in sight. The caress of running water against her hands instills a brand of calm she badly needs. With palms full of water, she splashes her face in hopes of an epiphany, to no avail. She shuts off the faucet, no less terrified from running the gauntlet of hostile eyes.

A quick glance at the mirror reveals her soaked reflection. Nothing lost but nothing gained. But her trance masks an indifferent You, which she only notices after snapping out of it. “Eeeeek!”

“Ah, sorry Riko-chan. Did I startle you?” You replied.

The palpitation returning, Riko takes several calming breaths. “Obviously! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry, sorry. But I called you three times and you didn’t answer. I was worried.”

“Did you?”

You takes notice of the change in the wind. “You seem troubled. Are you okay?”

Denial can only work for so long before it worsens an already precarious situation. Holding back her tears, Riko confides the shadows chasing her. “The past few days have been…awful for some reason. I suddenly found myself being looked at in contempt.”

“How come?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.”

“That can’t be right. They can’t just look at you funny for no reason.”

“I _know_. Just hear me out.” Tears rush out of her sad look, a prompt for You to give her a hug. Every stroke of a crying Riko’s back chokes up her words, but she tells how everything began with an eraser. Its mere mention helps her confidant don a scheming look in secret. The eraser is her scheme, her way to break her friend’s spirit before her body. And it has served its purpose.

The comforting strokes continue. “Sorry to hear that, Riko-chan,” You lends both ears to her friend’s worsening woes. From the eraser spawned hearsay, how she passes—if not aces—her tests through deceitful means. The faith of fellow students fall as would a cascade of dominoes, some electing to seek her advice no longer. Soon, her diligence is of little value to the eyes of those who misplaced their trust. Gazes and heckles replace the pleasantries that define every conversation she has participated in. The more vocal naysayers haunt her enough to drive her berserk and incite a catfight. The little dignity left in her is all but gone—all because of an eraser.

Or perhaps, the malice of one fallen angel.

“You-chan,” Riko’s sobbing sees no end. “I’m ruined. What should I do?”

“I still believe in you,” You said. “Just show them that you can still change for the better.”

“But how? They won’t even talk to me anymore.”

The constant strokes of comfort soon grab Riko by the shoulders. “You can do it.”

“But how…?”

“You _can_ do it, Riko-chan. I believe in you.”

There can be no closure with such words, yet Riko wipes her tears away and braces for a last chance to redeem herself. “You’re right. Crying won’t do me any good. I have to take action.”

“That’s the spirit,” You pushes her closer to the door. “Now hurry before everyone’s gone.”

“Thank you, You-chan,” Riko goes on ahead, no longer needing a push in the right direction. But instead of a blessing, You sees her off wearing the look of a schemer. She has thought of her plan as far as this. How it all boils down is for the clueless redhead to find out.

~O~

THE ENTIRE SCHOOL cannot lend an ear to Riko for now, but the road to redemption can start with the modest few. Self-confidence, once at an all time low, spikes at the thought of today’s task of cleaning the classroom. In her worry, she has forgotten about Mutsu and the others assigned to clean up after school. The smiles that greet Riko, a welcome respite from the pessimism of days past, as she enters the room assure her of where their loyalty still lies. Mutsu even takes the lead in hugging her friend in need, the others following suit. Tears once again roll down Riko’s face, this time of joy.

With the sun coming down fast, the girls cut their talk short and grab a washcloth. The room is too big for one having the will of many to spare no speck of dust or dirt. The effort demands a delicate balance of speed and thoroughness, lest they fancy walking home in the dead of night. Fortunately, the girls can count on a high-spirited Riko to blaze through half the task, motivated to right the wrong not of her own doing. Mutsu and the others jokingly tell her to take it easy, to no avail.

Then, the distinct disciplinarian tone of an upperclassman calls the girls from the doorway. “Hey, I need some hands with the setup at the park. Can you girls help?”

The girls share their puzzled looks with one another. Mutsu responds on their behalf. “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“You’re not the only one,” the upperclassman points at the group one by one. “We need all hands if we’re to complete preparations before sundown.” She then glares at Riko, who stares back with dread. “Perhaps _she_ can take care of the cleaning here.”

“What?” Mutsu’s bafflement surpasses that of her classmates. “You can’t just ask her to—”

“Straight from the teachers, just deserving of cheaters.”

“Riko-chan is innocent. She would never do such a thing.”

Riko has heard enough. “Mutsu-san!” her startling cry stops the argument short of an all-out catfight. Any further trade of words grinds to a halt as all eyes return to her. Her faint sobbing fills the room, yet she holds back the ensuing outburst of sadness. “I’ll be fine here. You guys go on ahead.”

“But Riko-chan—”

“Besides, there isn’t much left to clean now. I can take it from here.”

“Riko-chan…”

One can only hold on to stoicism for so long. Riko carries on alone with the daunting task in an air that echoes her sobs. Eyes fixated on the grime left on the floor, she shoves her cleaning cloth hard as her state of mind. Her hair blankets the trickling sadness falling on the cloth, which absorbs every drop. Mutsu and the others look on in silence for a while before leaving the room, ashamed at their failure to put their feet down. Only at the company of desks and chairs does the scorned girl unleash her sadness. Yet, the cleaning carries on unabated.

The first stars reveal their radiance, yet Riko’s task is far from over. Whether she lied about having not much to clean or she misjudged the extent of the task left, the point is long moot. The white cloth turns gray with grime, just as her uniform darkens with sweat. The sobbing and tears have all but stopped, but the sadness still lingers. Every few strokes of the cloth, she asks herself: “What did I do to deserve this?” Alas, the poor soul knows nothing of the fact that she has done nothing.

She hears footsteps from the corridor but pays no heed. The task—an opportunity she sees in clearing her name—takes up every ounce of her attention. Even as the footsteps enter the room, her attention remains fixed on her grime-encrusted cloth. Even as the tips of slippers loom short of her gaze, she chooses not to notice.

She can tell whose feet stand before her without looking.

“I’m sorry, Yocchan. I’m busy,” Riko says without looking.

“That’s not like you at all,” Yoshiko helps herself to a seat. “Normally, you’d drop everything and turn your attention to me. But I guess this isn’t one of those times.”

“I thought you went home already.”

“I did. But when I heard that you haven’t, I went back here.”

“For what reason?”

“To keep an eye on you. What else?”

Riko’s dour tone leaves much to be desired. “Save yourself the trouble and kill me. I’m sure your people will welcome you back if you do.”

“I doubt that your death will lead to my redemption,” replied the fallen angel. “Even if I kill the entire human race, it _still_ won’t be enough.”

“What’ll it take, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Then why bother keeping me around? I’m not even supposed to know you.”

“Whose fault do you think is that?”

Amidst the dourness, the dialogue gives enough room for the silence of a calm evening. The routine of a grime-encrusted washcloth washed, dried, and sent to collect more grime plays in the interlude. Riko keeps her attention at the washcloth, only for her gaze to shift to Yoshiko for a split second. This brief display of a conflicted heart fails to escape the fallen angel’s eyes, but Yoshiko says nothing and watches on.

Finally, Riko spares a few seconds to realize what she has become. “I…didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Yoshiko smirked. “But I can _still_ kill you.”

The threat hardly felt real. The two break out in healthy laughter, oblivious to the grimness caused by Riko’s debacle.

“Just seeing you here means a lot to me, Yocchan,” Riko said. “I really do. Thank you.” The weight of misplaced guilt slowly lifts away, allowing her to smile again.

Yoshiko looks away in denial. “Well, it just so happens that there aren’t any rogue demons tonight. Yeah, it’s been really quiet.”

“You’re not so bad on the inside after all, Yocchan..”

“Stop patronizing me. I’m a servant of the Underworld. I—”

In a reflection of her normal self, Riko walks up and holds Yoshiko’s hands. The eerie warmth, despite hours of repeated drenching, adds to the fallen angel’s astonishment. Not the kind that stems out of an epiphany but from confusion. “No. You’re the fallen angel Yohane. You’re also Yoshiko Tsushima. You can choose whoever you want to be. You deserve your own happiness.”

“What are you talking about?” the flustered fallen angel pulls her hands out of her friend’s touch. “Hurry up and be done with your cleaning. I’m getting bored.”

“Okay. But before I do…”

“What now?”

“Do you…like chocolate?”

 


	14. Her Own Happiness

_Turns out it’ll take more than a few bad rumors to break a mortal’s spirit, a grave mistake on my part. That redhead bitch has regained the trust of the entire student body, especially after she was cleared of any fault. If anything, she became more popular than ever._

_Time’s running out for Yocchan and me. If we can’t find who we’re looking for by tonight, the Black Hand will make elfin chow out of us. Yet, Yocchan wastes the opportunity given to her by hanging out with that…that…argh!_

_Here I am trying to help her return to the fold. Here I am wanting Yocchan back…the old days back. Just the two of us._

_It’s that bitch’s fault. It’s everything in her and more. Riko-chan must die._

\--Yusari’s journal, 12 days after arrival

 

“Ding!” goes the inanimate timekeeper, a prompt that drives Riko mad with infatuation. The decadence of a three-layered gateau wafts out of the oven, fuel to her delight. Naked hands grab the blistering pan to settle on the rack to cool, yet she feels no pain even as she realizes her mitts remain on the shelf unused. Her hands bear no consequence of holding a pan hotter than the heat of her body, not so much a wince. Such concerns, however, sink in the shadows of her infatuation for her decadent creation cooling off. The plump layers—lacking cream and icing—pass off as a dessert on its own, yet nothing should be short of the best for its recipient. Time spent on watching the steam from the cake dissipate is time well-spent.

By no means is her peculiar wonder for a simple dessert without reason. The roots of her infatuation go back to the night of serving her sentence for cheating (to which acquittal came not too long). The confirmation from Yoshiko at the time reverberates to this day: “I do” to chocolate. For a fallen angel unafraid to share her bullets with her adversaries, she lets her selfishness for chocolate take over. And thus marks the night Riko sold her soul for Yohane’s happiness.

“Can I…bake you something?” Riko fidgets in hopes of a favorable response.

“Why not?” said Yoshiko. “It’s not like you can poison me or anything.”

Clearly taken aback, Riko balks. “Rude! Why would you think like that?”

“Why not? I trust humans as far as I can put a bullet on their heads.”

“Yocchan, please just give me this. It’s the least I can do for…you know…”

“For what?”

“For giving me another chance.”

The stoic Yoshiko falls before the earnest look of a grateful mortal. “Fine, fine,” she turns her flustered look opposite Riko’s giggle. “Just don’t give me those eyes.” Soon, temptation forces her to play along. “And strawberries! Don’t forget the strawberries.”

“Thank you, Yocchan. You won’t regret it.”

“I’m regretting it already.”

And strawberries she puts on top of the fudgy coat: one for each of the eight potential slices and a ziggurat of four in the center. For a product of cautious haste, however, Riko’s cake is not without fault. An artisan judge will draw up a list of flaws talking about the uneven coat or the gross disparity in the size of strawberries. A gourmet tongue will raise concern about the lack of depth or flavor. A patisserie may refuse to place it among the ranks of fine culinary art in his shop.

Be that the case, taste and presentation have nothing to offer the honor of carrying her true feelings forward. A pastry is a small price to pay for sparing her life, which has since evolved into a strong but forbidden bond. The thought of the armies of the Underworld never crosses her mind, if not sway her against adding the final touches.

Again, the heartwarming night plays in Riko’s head as she fawns over her creation.

“Are you free this weekend?” Riko asked.

“If there are no rogue demons to put down,” Yoshiko replied.

“Then can we share the cake I’ll be making?”

“I doubt anything I say would stop you. But I’m not complaining.”

“So…is that a ‘yes’ then?”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t say ‘maybe’ to a yes or no question.”

The fallen angel smirks. “But I can still put a bullet in your head.”

“Jeez, Yocchan!”

“Just go for it. Don’t make me talk about my feelings.” And yet, her refusal counts as one.

And yet again, she is correct to say that nothing will stop Riko from making the dessert. In a box wrapped in matching ribbons, the cake finally makes its way to its recipient on foot. Stained by the ingredients and hard work, her apron gets dragged along by the spur of the moment. She realizes this too far to turn around. Maybe it can help show the effort it required.

Under the evening peace, a sense of dread pervades by the entrance to the isolated block. This part of the city holds her nightmares, once holding her life by the throat without a soul to hurry to her aid. The supernatural long thought to be products of an artistic mind fill the empty roads and lay in wait where shadows flourish. The decision to either go through the block or take the long way around tarries as would any difficult decision to make. Between getting to Yoshiko’s place on time and getting home before the nightmares come out to play.

“Yocchan will probably heckle at me for being late,” she takes the first step into the block.            

All is quiet on this dark front for now, all the more the buildup of tension. Her steps echo in the dark lull, steps that she recognizes as both hers and—out of fear—someone else’s. Every corner and crossing she passes warrants a quick glance, only darkness stretching for days. Around her stand reminders that no one will be able to help her should she run into trouble, be it mortal or supernatural.

“Who makes an entire block and _not_ have people in it?” she asks herself to break the tension. The lack of an answer fails on that purpose.

Soon, the eerie medley of footsteps pervade in the air. Her pace quickens with deep breaths, grip on the cake box tightening, as the unknown closes. “No worries,” she fails at assuring herself. “That’s probably my own feet.” But no set of feet makes a running sound when walking, adding to her palpitation.

A hand reaches out to her shoulder after catching up. “Riko-chan?”

“KYAAAAAA!!!”

“Riko-chan, calm down! It’s me!” the hand belonging to You turns her around.

“Y-You-chan? Do you like sneaking up on me that much?”

“I guess. Not that I mean it or anything.”

More deep breaths finally calm Riko’s nerves. “Anyway, what brings you out here?”

“Well, I’m on my way home.”

“Through here?”

“Yeah. Saves me ten minutes.”

“Wanna walk together? I’m on my way to Yocchan to deliver this cake.”

You almost shows her disdain, most of which contained in her clenched hands, but she plays along. “Sure,” she fakes a smile well. “Safety in numbers.”

**~O~**

A SENSE OF SECURITY takes over Riko as she covers the remaining distance to safety with You. Corner after corner, street after street, they walk without as much as a fallen angel’s feather jumping them. Idle chatter ease their nerves more, Riko unable to stop talking about Yoshiko and her drastic change over the span of days. You lends an ear, not to her friend’s incessant drivel but the envy driving her to end her life. _How did the likes of her even get to Yocchan’s head?_ The urge rises as the conversation drags on.

“Riko-chan,” You said. “You seem so eager around Yoshiko-chan.”

“Am I?” Riko shrinks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two apart since I got here, except for going home.”

“It’s not that I’m eager. It’s just…Yocchan needs a friend.”

“She isn’t short on friends now, is she?”

Indeed, but Riko’s definition of a friend goes beyond sharing moments. “I’m talking about a friend that manages to pry open someone’s heart. I’m trying hard, but I’m not exactly there yet.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

An odd question, but a question nonetheless. “She deserves her own happiness.”

“Her own…happiness?”

Riko turns her attention to the stars. “That’s right. All this time, she’s forced into things that bring happiness to others. It’s not really a bad thing, but it comes at her expense.”

“I…somewhat get you. But what does it mean to have your own happiness?”

“Dozens. Wear your best smile, make friends, find a worthwhile hobby.”

“But it’s probably not that easy with Yoshiko-chan, is it?”

“It never is,” she smiles at You. “With Yocchan, I guess it might be something she wants to bring back.”

“Bring back? What is it?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s _that_ important to her, she’ll go through hell and back for it.”

You knows this to be true, all the more she gnashes in frustration. Such resentment refuses to acknowledge that the truth comes from an unlikely creature, no less one deserving of every fiber of her spite. For a lowly mortal to know more about a fallen angel than a fellow fallen angel, her disdain soon boils over. A glass-shattering scream breaks the little peace left in the world and—nearly—Riko’s ears.

“You-chan, what’s wrong?”

The sudden release of her anger subsides as her head slumps. Soon, sinister laughter takes its place. “You…you did this to Yocchan…you bitch.”

“You-chan? What are you…?”

“You’ll pay…you’ll pay…YOU’LL PAY!!!”

Darkness bursts forth beneath an enraged You, who lets it bind her in chains and twist her limbs. Cold steel rub against her sweet spots harder than usual, perhaps a response to her intense emotions. Pain and pleasure marry in her shrill, mortal clothes set ablaze and dress her in a fallen angel’s garb. Black, feathery wings break out of their shell, a sight for the lone witness to dread. The Perverted Peltast reveals herself once more, this time in the presence of her prey.

“You-chan,” Riko trembles from the revelation of the ruse. “You can’t be…you’re…”        

Yusari craves for human blood to trail down the edge of her dark spear. She holds the shaft close to her bosom and between her legs, licking it as a temporary source of fulfillment. “I’ve never tasted human blood before. Care to satisfy my craving, Riko-chan?”

“This can’t be happening. You-chan, you’re not—”

“Save your breath. You’ll need it in the afterlife!” The chase of a thousand steps begins with a throw of her spear.

 


	15. Awakening

_I carry forth my existence as the Guilty Barrel, a fallen angel chasing after emancipation in countless worlds. At the behest of my tormentors, I deliver the will of discord against our sworn enemies and the folly of traitors. Through the smoking ends of Hellstorm’s fury, through each it fells, I draw closer to the reward of my desire. This guilt I cast aside, I pay for with blood._

\--Creed of the Guilty Barrel

 

The curtain of stars melds under a creeping layer of darkness, thunderclaps in its wake. The flashes within it dance across the reaches of the city limits, followed by the rumble rolling as far. Within minutes, the celestial brilliance dotting the night has retreated behind the cover of an imminent deluge. Across the city, pedestrians race home, if not the awning of a nearby café or bus stop. In dark alleys, strays feuding over rights to garbage set aside their interests and scurry to the safety of discarded boxes or fabric. Between humans and animals, a roof over their heads fills them with a deserving calm.

For a certain damsel and her cake, there can be no calm. The claps of wanton destruction fill the air, now ablaze with a life-or-death pursuit. Roads crack and walls crumble with the hysteria of the Perverted Peltast, drunk under her own envy, and her rain of spears. What can a discarded box hope against an onslaught capable of reducing brick and mortar to rubble? Against a fallen angel who sees all between her and a fellow as a threat? No, holding fast in the face of danger with feelings as a weapon is foolhardy. Only survival matters for  the prey as she sprints and wheezes to the safety of nothing. Each spear hurled at her draws closer to piercing her flesh clean. Wanton destruction possesses its fair share of dangers, with flying chunks of concrete and glass cutting into her clothes and hair. Knees buckle under the stress of running for miles to no end, but the grip on the box refuses to give in to despair.

The last pieces of the puzzle finally form the bigger picture: You Watanabe is a ruse. The instigator of the harmful hearsay about Riko’s cheating scandal is also the cause of her near demise. The cheerful front she uses to face mortals also hides the bloodshot look of a “sadistic, self-promoting, and spiteful” fallen angel. Yusari is to blame for Yohane’s suffering…for everything.

Or so the story goes.

“You betrayed Yocchan,” an unfazed Riko speaks her mind between gasps of breath as she avoids death. “She only did what was asked of her. And you betrayed her. Why?”

One of the spears, as if guided by fate’s hidden hand, pierces and mangles her heel. A shrill of agony follows as Riko falls to her deathbed, the cake sliding out of the box. More spears nail her arms and legs in place, akin to a crucifix for a holy heretic, adding to her agony. Tattered clothing is dyed red with a mix of blood and sweat. Dying breaths match the steps of her imminent demise approaching. The time for running away is over.

“Betrayed her?” Yusari’s heel grinds Riko as it would a nut fallen from a tree. “She betrayed _me_. And you’re the reason.” Cracking ribs add to Riko’s suffering, blood bursting forth from where words come. Yet, a sweet tune for the crazed fallen angel to enjoy.

“Yocchan…Yocchan was proud…to call you…her partner. She…believed in you.” Riko’s defiance gets her a spear to the gut, which twists and turns to create its own mangled art. Death fast approaching, she barely has the strength to cry in pain.

“How DARE you call her ‘Yocchan!’ That nickname is for mine to use and mine ALONE!”

“Yocchan…deserves…her own…happiness…”

“Happiness? I’m all that she needs to be happy.”

“N-No…no one can…it’s…up to her…”

“You got some nerve to talk big when you’re dying.”

“Yusari…chan…please…for Yocchan…”

Where Riko sees a last chance for a change of heart, Yusari sees a mockery of her threats. In a fit of rage, she calls upon more spears. Her hysteria finds a great deal of pleasure in watching the spears impale Riko from neck to toe. More geysers of blood emerge and more frenzied laughter. “AHAHAHAHA!!! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, BITCH?!”

One final breath escapes as Riko’s vision dims. “Yo…chan…”

Her head drops with a catatonic look. The blood stains her deathbed unhindered, the hedge of spears describe her manner of death. From her blank eyes, a glint falls down on the pavement, a last vestige of regret.

“Now Yocchan can be happy.”

Then, a rain of bullets accompanies a certain fallen angel’s wrath. “YUSARI!!!”

The first stinging hits from Hellstorm’s fury are but a prelude to the kick to the side that sends Yusari crashing through a nearby wall. Yohane rushes to Riko’s aid too late to undo her fate. Only the lifeless stare of the only being she ever considered as a “friend” responds to her repeated pleas to wake up. Tears shatter the callous image of the Guilty Barrel, but she pays no heed to such. Her prowess in battle, the subject of countless stories among angels and demons alike, hides her weakness to alienation. A soul hard beset by estrangement by the societies of heaven and hell weeps at her last hope for a third society to welcome her with open arms.    

All left in ruins by a fellow’s jealousy.

“Yocchan,” Yusari emerges from the rubble, not a bruise to be seen. “Don’t you get it? She’s playing you for a fool. She’s trying to tear us apart.”

Yohane stands up but does nothing.

“The Black Hand’s coming. I can’t let them see you like this.”

Nothing.

“I…I just want the old days back.”

Nothing.

“What about _my_ happiness, Yocchan? Doesn’t it matter—?”

Yohane has heard enough. Adding her fury to Hellstorm’s own, the warning shot grazes Yusari’s face. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT HAPPINESS WHEN YOU TOOK AWAY MINE!!!”

Sadness and anger muddle Yohane’s glare behind a smoking barrel. Tears escape her eyes, only to dry up along a surface enraged by all the deception plaguing her life. But some run through the blistering gauntlet, trickling down Riko’s corpse..

“You’re making a big mistake—”

A reiteration of her fury punches a hole in Yusari’s arm. Her free hand reacts to the pain and the geyser of blood. The horrific look on her bloodied hand is nothing less of an epiphany, let alone a reason to finally despise her so-called partner.

“You’ll _pay_ for this!”

“So make me!” exclaimed Yohane, more tears showering her dead friend.

**~O~**

TWO PAIRS of black wings take flight, away from the blood and ruin. In the cascade of thunder, the fury of Hellstorm matches the perverted spear move for move. Bullet after bullet hits either air or the illusory whirl of shaft and spearhead. Javelin after javelin screams pass, if not grazes, the wings of its hated adversary. The grace of their deadly dance moves with the rumble of the gods above the waiting deluge. The dance soon draws blood from both sides, but the pain drowns in the rush of the melee. Partners as old as an infant universe, having read each other’s book of skills, struggle to break the stalemate. The scowls match their intent to be the only warrior standing.

Then, the stalemate breaks at a missed chance to impale Yohane, who unleashes a barrage in return. The doomed Yusari shrieks at her punishment, opening one wound after another. Her wings, every ounce of their will to fly punctured, take her down next to her lifeless handiwork in a splash of concrete. A welcome sign of victory, but complacency has no room in battle. Descending upon her crippled prey, Yohane lands shy of the reach of the perverted spear. She points the Hellstorms at her prey, only the chilling air in the way of her retribution.

“Do it,” Yusari muttered.

The slew of wounds hurt as much as an ant’s bite. Yohane does nothing.

“What’s the matter, Yocchan? Cold feet?”

More seconds pass, Yohane does nothing.

“You’re scared. You’ve _always_ been scared.” The trembling hand holding Yusari at gunpoint confirms her taunt. “You don’t even have what it takes to live up to your moniker.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Yohane staggers at the fatal blow dealt from behind by an unseen javelin, its head still soaked in the blood of its mortal victim. Every sensation shuts down as she bleeds a waterfall from the impalement. The grip on her weapon falters and falls along with her, her blood mixing with Riko’s. Dimming vision bears witness to an old friend taking her place as the victor and executioner. Resent comes too late to stop her from closing her eyes and accepting her fate. A deaf ear turns to the declaration of her sentence, much less the prospect of reclaiming the old days.

“We could’ve been a great team again, Yocchan,” Yusari taunted. “We could’ve lived the life you wanted. But you chose to remain blind.”

“I chose to remain blind…rather than pure lies blinding me,” Yohane coughs blood.

“Well, it won’t matter now. In the name of the Black Hand, I sentence you…to _death_.”

Yusari’s trembling grip on her spear puts a grin on the dying Yohane. “If you can,” she peers into her fellow’s eyes and the hesitation they contain. Nevertheless, Yusari musters enough courage to raise the spear and be done with the execution.

“Yocchan…live,” she whispered.

The sense of such an odd choice of words escapes in the spur of a hurrying Riko knocking the spear with a bloodied arm. As the blade flies off into the rumbling darkness, the fallen angels gasp in awe. A gaping hole in her chest where the killing blow once stood lets out a warm light instead of blood. Soon, the other wounds emit the same light only a denizen of heaven can produce.

“Ri…ri?”

“It’s coming back now,” Riko looks at the wounds in her hands, emitting light.

“What are you talking about, Riri?”

Suddenly, beneath her feet, a burst of sacred light blinds the agents of discord and envelops Riko. Yohane forces her eyes to peer through the swirling vortex. The redhead’s warm smile fills her vision.

“Yocchan. Thank you for believing in me.”

“Riri…who…are you?”

“Don’t worry. You can still call me Riri after this.”

A lone beacon of the heavens flashes in the darkness of conflict. Riko casts off every vestige of her mortal shell, bathing naked in the light and wailing at the pleasure of the freedom it grants. The wounds close up under the blinding aura, which grants her a dress she has long sought to wear. A frilly skirt up to her thighs matches the bow at the back. The top riddled with laces go with shoes and intricate embroidery on her hands. Angel wings break out for the world to see, along with a rapier for her enemies to fear.

The light subsides. The angel faces a shocked Yusari. Nothing will ever be the same again.

“You shall harm the Guilty Barrel no further. I, Ricosia the Lonely Sword, will be your opponent.”

 

**ACT I ~finis~**


	16. Bad Faith

_Truth is the creation of a conflicted mind. An ear to one truth cannot be the truth without an ear to the other. It sets us free, but at what cost? It has ruined as many a foundation as it has built. It tests faith to the point of either ascendancy or insanity. Take great care in any search for the truth, as it is both ally and adversary._

_\--Excerpt from an angel’s dialogue with Yohane before the latter’s exile_

 

 

The evening shower shows no signs of abating. The gust howls with the staccato of the deluge and roar of thunder across the city, lording over the peace in peril. Late night news brings word of a truck full of ordnance exploding and laying waste to an entire residential block but falls short of earning one’s attention. Mangled steel and mounds of rubble give no evidence of stray bullets wreaking havoc, but not a curious soul bothers. Perhaps the grin of a personality masked in darkness watching the news holds the truth, not one to share it regardless of reason. At the beck and call of an incoming call, the grinning figure answers with the youth of a signorina. “Pronto?”

“Buonasera, milady,” the raspy communiqué on the other end replied. “I commend you for another cover-up well done.”

“Grazie. But I know you didn’t call just to congratulate me.”

“Of course not, milady. And that’s the irony of this phone call.”

“One of those calls again, I see. I guess it’s better than watching the news.”

“Take this seriously, milady. Our continued loyalty depends on your answer.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Drenched in the rain, a figure in hiding from the city lights says his piece. Among the few who know, he speaks of the secretive battle between light and darkness raging in the world for weeks. If not sudden, the unexpected intrusion of the conflict has furnished a list of the lives lost, among them his peers. Every report sent on the movements among angels and demons—too many to outline—only elicits a still response from the lady: “Just keep an eye on them.” And he blames such a response for the deaths of good agents under his command. One skewered by Yusari looking to vent her anger, another sentenced to death by Yohane for rape. What would he tell the ones still alive aside from “following orders?” How could he face them?

In the shadows, agents like him risk their lives keeping humanity safe from the supernatural. But their method of substituting realities can only delay the inevitable for so long. Soon, the truth itself will step into the light. The world will realize that angels and demons are no figments of fiction. Humanity’s secret line of defense will be forced to reveal all that is known and all that will be.

When that time comes, how will Mari Ohara play her hand?

“I’ve never failed you before, have I?” Mari takes a sip of her tea. The flash and thunderclap that follow barely faze her demeanor.

“There’s a first time for everything, milady,” the man replied.

“Suppose we act now. What do you propose that we do?”

“We hit them now before their people have a chance to react. We have the means, milady.”

“The means, you say? Do you even realize what you’re saying?”

“I do. And it must be said.”

“You _will_ take responsibility for this…and for what’s to come.”

“I intend to, milady.”

Not all episodes of silence mean defeat, especially with a shrewd Ohara. But in this case, she yields. “Okay. You win. We’ll do it your way.”

“I’m glad you see things that way, milady.”

“How fast can you prepare?”

“24 hours.”

“Our first move must be a strong one. Settle for the third day.”

“As you wish, milady.”

“Ciao.”

Mari and her contact hang up at the same time, ending the dialogue. Her sense of calm stays as she finishes her tea, as expected of the latest heir to humanity’s unsung resistance. Circumstances force her to play on their terms, yet she makes herself comfortable before the rerun of a soap opera. Her grin is not a response to the humor of the two lead roles of the program, but to a contingency plan she wants to enact all along. Soon, all the pieces will slide where she expects them to.

The first of these pieces appear as a silhouette with wings spread out. Mari fears no such creature, not even one whom she has crossed paths with before. “Sorry to disappoint you, bella. But I already knew you were coming.”

“I come for answers,” Yohane’s muffled demands echo through the glass door.

“And answers you shall get. Come in.”

And come in Yohane does, away from the cold and into the eerie warmth of Ohara hospitality. A trail of the deluge trickles along the carpeted floor, the result of her haste to seek answers. The holstered Hellstorms loom before an unpertubed Mari, already accepting of the fate that follows. Fortunately, bloodshed has no room in an invitation by a mortal too calm in the face of the supernatural.

As her wings fold out of sight, Yohane sits by the sofa next to Mari. An offer of a cup of tea is flatly refused with a wave.

“You know more than you claim to be,” Yohane began. “Just who are you?”

Mari holds back nothing from the fallen angel, including savoir faire. “Simply put, we defend humanity from the likes of you…by any means necessary.”

“Hmph. What can powerless mortals do against the likes of us?”

“We’re more capable than you think, Yohane-chan. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

Yohane’s free hand inches toward one of her guns, only to be stopped by hostility breathing down her neck. The unlit corners of the room conceal a few of Mari’s people, fingers on the trigger. Recalling the bullet that brought harm to her, the fallen angel relents but the threat keeps its stance.

“Your reputation precedes you, Guilty Barrel,” Mari said. “I _do_ have guards in this room.”

“And they carry the same bullets as before?” Yohane rests her back on the sofa as a show of sincerity.

“Slightly weaker. But still lethal at the right place.”

“And what do you intend to do with the likes of us?”

Mari refills her teacup. “That’s a secret…for now. Tea?”

Yohane shakes her head. “Tell me what you know about a certain angel instead.”

“An angel, you say?”

Yohane nods. “Can you help?”

The host has no reason to turn down a guest she herself invited. “What’s the bella’s name?”

**~O~**

THE CLOCK WINDS back to a storm strong as tonight and a skirmish without end. Raindrops scatter at the weight of fast-paced clashes of steel in midair, glints sparking several times for every flash of lightning. Nearby windows and lights shatter at the resonance of the melee, walls crumble at devastation that fails to find its mark. Howling winds and the rumble of the gods mask the battle from unwanted ears.

Human eyes only see the darkness of the stormy sky, but a wounded Yohane sees the tide of battle switch hands. Rifts in time-space tear open and rain javelins of various calibers, the opening act for Yusari to impale her opponent with impunity. More destruction rains down on the battlefield, but Ricosia’s graceful flying makes a mockery of any attempt at her life.

The battle sees no clear winner, but a lull in the melee reveals an incredible gap in skill. The fallen angel’s grip on her spear shakes, shallow breaths follow. Facing her, the angel worth every scorn in the Underworld readies to attack, not a deep breath to take.

“You’re messing with me, are you?” Yusari wheezed.

“Just leave,” Ricosia replied. “I have no intention of harming anyone tonight.”

“Too bad, because I do!”

The melee resumes. The destruction continues. The storm hardly abates.

Enough is enough.

Pulsating with hallowed light, Ricosia’s edge resonates with her decisive blow. A fleeting lull and Yusari’s bloodlust stops dead. The victor watches the defeated and a flurry of spears crash in a geyser of concrete. The spears turn against their mistress as they fall, running through her in several places. One pierces close to her heart, a mouthful of blood bursting forth.

The champion of harmony descends, unmoved by the agony of the fallen angel who relished in hers moments ago. Opportunity presents the victor with the chance for another warrior of discord to her infamy. If not the option of staining her sacred blade, then perhaps leave the spears to bleed Yusari dry.

Instead, Ricosia stays her blade and watches from a distance. “Have you had enough?” The immense loss of blood has little in the way of a cackling Yusari. “‘Have I had enough,’ she asks. You say as if you’ve already won.”

“Stop this. You have lost.”

“I wouldn’t be too quick to say that.”

“What are you talking about?”

A shaky grip on the shaft pulls the spear out. A second geyser of blood and a sundry howl of pain and pleasure follow her rebound, the other spears still piercing her flesh. Such recklessness urges more of her blood to pour out, yet elicits the grin of a mad jester. “Look what you made me do. Yocchan’s blood is escaping me,” her hand plugs the gush of blood, but only a temporary fix. Ricosia and Yohane look on in disgust, forced to listen to more perverted rambling and cackling. “I’ve drank so much blood from so many that I’m not sure if I can still call it mine.”

“Why are you laughing?” a serious tone highlights Ricosia’s intent.

“Isn’t it obvious, _Riri_ -chan?” mocked Yusari. “You won’t win a war on the battlefield alone. And in this instance, I’ve _won_.”

A glance Yohane’s way and Yusari soars into the rumbling sky. The profuse bleeding trails as she retires for the night. The sounds of imminent rain prevail over the neighborhood once more, the calm before another storm.

A relieved Ricosia turns around. “Yocchan, you’re safe—”

Hellstorm flames to life, its first shot grazing past her ear, to her disbelief. Before her stands Yohane ablaze with rage, yet teary eyes show her anguish. A sharp glare accompanies the smoking end of her intent to kill, shy of coming to fruition. The spear still buried in her gut is an afterthought compared with arguably the greatest blunder of her demonic life.

Why must Riko—the only being Yohane ever treated as a genuine friend—be the key to her redemption? Why must Riko be the powerful angel Ricosia?

Regret weighs Yohane down over the missed opportunity of pulling the trigger on their first encounter. Dismissive remarks on killing her outright mock her for her ineptitude. The melee with Dectera truly is the lure by which the trap should have sprung for another angel, as Yusari revealed earlier. As the first drops begin to fall on the aftermath, Yohane must make another painful decision.

Regain the trust of demonic society or protect the only true friend she ever had.

“Why? Why did it have to be you?”

“Yocchan…”

Another shot shaves a little off the angel’s hair. “Enough with the LIES!”

“Yocchan, please listen—”

“You were supposed to be the only friend I have. And now I have to kill you for real! Why, Riri?! WHY DID YOU DO THIS?”

“Yocchan…”

Ricosia can only think of one way to end Yohane’s suffering. Through repeated but empty promises to shoot, she walks up to the fallen angel and draws the gun at point blank to her chest. Human or otherwise, a shot through the heart is fatal.

“Yocchan,” Ricosia helps a stunned Yohane inch the trigger to firing. “If my death will bring you happiness, then go ahead. I promise not to hate you for it.”

Be it tears or raindrops trickling down her face, the distraught fallen angel resists seizing the opportunity. The gun trembles at the hand of its wielder, her choices vying for control of her consciousness. _Why do you hesitate? How many more must fall by your hand? Is this not why you are here? Will more blood on your hands get you the peace you desire?_

“Do it,” Ricosia smiles, genuine tears flooding her eyes.

Yohane snaps. “NOOOOOO!” she pushes Ricosia away and soars into the dark sky.

“Yocchan!”

Only thunder.

“YOCCHAN!”

The drizzle becomes a deluge.

“Yo…chan…”

And a fragile heart shatters.

“Yo…chan…I’m sorry…”

Ricosia withdraws to her mortal shell, which falls to her knees sobbing. Rain is her company, and the ruined cake is her consolation. The second act begins.


	17. Oblivion

_The reason for my mission finally makes herself known: an old enemy._

_Above this backwater realm, three centuries ago, the grand forces of harmony and discord bathed in the flames of cataclysm. Separated from Yusari, I clashed with the Lonely Sword. The vicious stage of our melee erupted amidst the dins of mutilation and ringing steel. Her limitless power quenched my thirst for a worthy opponent, but it also nearly ended my life. In the closing minutes, we were caught in a passing celestial storm. The tide turned when my shot sent the Lonely Sword down to Earth. My reputation reached its apex following that decisive victory._

_And it shall do so again once I settle the score with Ricosia. Discord will have its defiled angel._

\--Yohane’s journal, 14 days after her arrival

 

Ricosia the Lonely Sword. Angel hierarchy: unknown.

One of the most celebrated champions of harmony hides from ally and enemy alike under the alias Riko Sakurauchi. Beneath this mortal shell lies the power of an army of regular angels, drawn from a heart most pure. The mere mention of her epithet—a misnomer frequently associated to an army of one—sows fear and admiration, as would her blade drawn. One by one, champions of discord sent to put her down never return to tell the tale. Among fellow angels, she is revered as a hero, if not the chosen one to end the cycle of conflict, but never a friend. They call upon her to turn the tide of a battle but never to rejoice in a hard-fought victory. They admire her for earning more than her keep, yet never sincere in their felicitations. The angels hardly mourned her disappearance following the clash with the Guilty Barrel three centuries ago, as dozens of stronger kin could take her place. For that, isolation defines her prowess before and after battle. Hence the moniker, Lonely Sword, although “disposable” makes for a better term.

She thought befriending Yohane would end her isolation. For the record, such ideas were brainchildren of an angel’s failsafe, sealing her memories upon straying into a neutral realm. The lovable Riko is the result of such a seal, which only the creeping touch of death can dispel. Now, two sets of memories become one as she recalls her many clashes with the Guilty Barrel but also the good times with Yoshiko. She knows the fallen angel for her lack of mercy, yet also for the episodes of forced mercy. Forced or not, a heart most pure knows better to show gratitude, even in a state of war.

But what lies ahead of a forsaken friendship after the revelation? Once walking to school together to start and end the day, Yoshiko outpaces Riko twelvefold. Once sharing lunches, Yoshiko opts for seclusion over company. Once honing their footwork with aspiring school idols, Yoshiko chooses her days to participate, days devoid of Riko. Their brief friendship is a farce. They return to being mortal enemies, with the fallen angel waiting for the day of reckoning.

You cannot be any happier to see the rift widen. “I’m happy for you, Yocchan. Even if your shots still hurt like hell, at least you’ve come to your senses.” She closes her arms around her friend in the shadow of the school building and the cover of trees. Shallow breaths down Yoshiko’s neck express her hunger for pleasure, to which the latter loosens her collar in consent.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Yoshiko said. “I owe the original Yusari an apology. Not _you_.”

“Fair enough,” You licks Yoshiko by the nape. “Why don’t we have some fun tonight?”

“I have… _other_ plans.”

“Oh? I hope it’s not with that redhead bitch.”

“None of the sort. I need you to help me forget.”

“Forget? About what?”

Yoshiko glances at Riko from a distance. Neither is aware of each other’s presence. “Her.”

“Well, why don’t we visit our old friend the Defiler? He’ll set you straight.”

“Out of the question. I was told to never return to discord empty-handed.”

“No one’s gonna bat an eye if we sneak—”

“Yusari.”

“Joke. It’s joke.”

However, Yoshiko’s conniving eyes suggests another way. The message is slow to get across, but its recipient decrypts her intent. Stunned by disbelief, You protests against the slightest mention of the alternative her partner seeks. The risks, for her, far outweighs the benefits.

“You’re not serious, are you?” You asked.

Yoshiko pulls her collar further down, revealing the black strap of her bra. “You understand. Can I trust the Perverted Peltast with this task?”

However enticing the flesh, the protest intensifies. “No, no, no, no, no! You can’t be serious, Yocchan. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s too risky.”

“Risk has never stopped you before. How is now any different?”

“There’s a good chance that your other memories will be erased in the process.”

“A chance worth taking.”

“No! There’s gotta be another way. I won’t let you—”

A guilty kiss cuts off the flow of nays, their source unable to resist the urge to accept. Their lips caress in fueled passion, shunning the world for such a moment. An enigmatic force draws their bodies close, breasts fondling with the stroke of their hands up and down. Sharp, sexual gasps follow every part of their lips, only to return to caressing. However brief, the bold gamble on Yoshiko’s part succeeds in changing her partner’s mind.

“Who are you? What have you done with Yocchan?” You replied half-jokingly.

“I can trust you with this, right?” Yoshiko asked in reply.

“Have it your way. But if anything bad happens, it’s on you.”

“Duly noted.”

**~O~**

ONE LAST CHANCE to reconsider disappears as Yoshiko bathes in rejuvenating darkness, mortal flesh cursed by the essence of darkness. As fast as she dons her true form, however, she takes her robes off down to jewelry. Before a pile of garments and underwear, Yohane bares her flesh for Yusari to fawn over to her heart’s content. Sadly, this is neither the place nor time to satiate one’s perverted hunger. Not that the dour mood it evokes is ideal for such mischief.

On Yusari’s hand, the purple glow of the cosmos along the thong drives her sick with worry. The innate aura, black as her soul, circulates along the length of the thong. Not once did she reckon the day she would be forced to use such a relic, much less on a friend eager to forget. No soul would ever benefit from a relic even demons loathe. “Yocchan, are you aware of the effects of this whip?”

“Of course,” Yohane replied. “It degrades the memories one remembers with each strike. The Underworld calls it the ‘Whip of Mu’ for that reason.”

“That’s the idea _on paper_. If you recall something else while getting whipped, it’ll be deleted.”

“I am aware of that. But if we are to accomplish our mission, attachments must be severed.”

“Yocchan…don’t forget about me. Please.”

“It will not come to that, Yusari. On that, you can rest assure.”

Doubt still lingers in Yusari’s heart, but the will of the forsaken is made clear. “Okay. Let’s begin.”

The length of the cosmos unrolls from the whip as Yohane spreads her wings as much as the room allows. Dark rifts open all around her, chains pouring forth and binding her head to toe. As would strings to a marionette, the chains lift her off the floor in agonizing tension. Arms spread out and legs bound, she mimics a certain messiah on his death throes at the hands of sinful mortals. Her groans fill the room as the tension tightens, if not threatens to tear her limbs off. It falls short of such a gruesome fate as the chains cease pulling back into the rifts. Already, her deep gasps signify the toll the ritual will exact on the fallen angel, to her partner’s dread.

Regardless, the Whip of Mu hungers for memories to be banished to oblivion. The first of many strokes slashes through flesh like any typical whip, a sharp cry of pain following in its wake. Another stroke cuts deeper and leaves its searing mark, as well as an agonizing shrill. Through echoes of suffering, Yusari delivers stroke after stroke in increasing increments of pain. Any memory caught in the whip’s touch will be forgotten forever.

Suddenly, Yusari stops. “Anything?”

Yohane catches her breath. “No. She still haunts me.”

“Guess the whip’s broken. Let’s try—”

“Strike harder.”

“What?”

“Strike harder, Yusari.”

Despite hesitation, the strokes continue. Ripping flesh now reaches the tips of her wings, most sensitive to even the prod of an imp’s fork. Prized feathers fall off before the absence of mercy gashing across a fallen angel’s glory, sharp cries growing into howls. After an equal amount of strokes, Yusari stops again. “Anything?”

Yohane struggles to catch her breath. “No. She remains.”

“I think it’s the whip. It’s not being—”

“Harder.”

“What?”

“Strike harder, Yusari.”

“Yocchan, your body won’t be able to take much more of this.”

“Do you want the old days back or not?”

The last vestiges of unscathed flesh cower under the field of bleeding gashes. The whipping moves to the front where the horror of a pale fallen angel in chains crushes any impulse of carrying on with the ritual. Before the third wave of strokes can be delivered, the whip drops from the hand of a stunned Yusari. “I…I can’t do this anymore,” she falls down to her knees, almost to tears.

Are these the words of one who finds pleasure in the torment of others? If so, then years of separation have done a disservice to the warrior and her sadism. Awaiting the next wave of strokes, Yohane eyes the display of weakness before her with contempt. Many a ways she can express her discontent but elects silence to deliver her message.

And it works in getting Yusari to pick up the whip once more. “Yocchan, I…”

“You want that redhead bitch gone, right?” Yohane grinned.

A steeled resolve reveals itself through her eyes and a tighter grip. “I do.”

“Then let’s take her down together.”

“Yocchan…”

“Use your anger. Destroy her.”

Tears and a grin accompany a welling gladness. The whip unfurls, its wielder finding a reason to lash the scourge out of her partner’s mind once and for all. The unscathed front soon receives the first of several strokes fueled by a common, vicious hatred. A blend of mad laughter and scorned agony fill the chamber of torture, sanity lost in the heat of the moment. Whereas the deliverer of the suffering asks to stop, the recipient screams for more of the pain in drunken infatuation.

“Ha, ha! Had enough, Yocchan?”

“More! More!”

“You asked for it!”

Finally, oblivion has begun exacting its wrath on the unwanted memories. Fissures break vivid frames of the good times with Riko, spreading with each vicious stroke. The face of elegance and kindness shatters with the frames beyond the point of repair. From the color of the sky to the dialogue that occurred, no detail of the memories is spared. Yohane’s fateful encounter with then-Riko, the missed opportunities to end the angel of her woes, the days of finding happiness—all resigned to the fate the whip bestows.

The revelation of the Lonely Sword is the last to disintegrate. Never to be regained. Never to be recalled. Never to be forgotten once more.

“It…is done…” Yohane gasped. The chains loosen and drop her half-dead on the floor.


	18. Line in the Sand

_The wind’s blowing strangely today, zura._

_Not too strong but not too weak. It comes from the sea, as it does every morning. It’s barely even winter, yet it suddenly gives me the chills. Strange feelings like these often point to something bad happening within the next day or two._

_I wonder if today’s one of those days._

\--excerpt from Hanamaru’s journal

 

An unexplainable tension drifts above a typical morning of practice, none of the girls immune to it. The tang of the _mikan_ Chika smuggles into practice suddenly turns rancid. The first steps Hanamaru and Ruby performed flawlessly the other day must be relearned following a few mishaps. And for some reason, Riko, You, and Yoshiko choose to relearn the steps in their personal worlds within the rooftop. Not one extends a helping hand, not a glance of concern. If they must glance, at least for the two fallen angels, they do so with a scowl. Riko accepts You’s hostility, but her heart sinks when forced to accept Yoshiko’s. A second of wordless acknowledgement later, they return to their own devices. Tragic that the driving force behind the glares and scowls among good friends will never be known to the mortals. At least for now.

“Let’s try again as a group. Maybe we’ll do better,” Chika rallies the girls and forms up with them. At the rhythm of eight counts, the girls create their brand of art. The grace of their smiles matches their seamless footwork. They feel for each other’s movements every step of the way. For a moment, a group rehearsal seems to be the solution to the brooding resentment.

Then, a wrong step throws You’s rhythm off, hitting Riko in the process. But who can really tell how intentional the mishap is? “Sorry Riko-chan. Wrong foot,” she apologizes with a hint of mockery.

Not a word from the redhead, only eyes of suspicion for her malicious nemesis and a glance of worry for her friend. Not that she has accepted the reality that any effort in amending fences is futile. As long as Yoshiko refuses to acknowledge even a strand of Riko’s hair, clinging on to hope may as well be gripping a knife by the edge. Perhaps she can feign faulty footwork to get Yoshiko’s attention, which she does in a repeat of the routine.

Unfortunately, You collapses as well. And in Yoshiko’s mind, a fellow fallen angel takes top priority. “You okay?” Yoshiko extends a helping hand.

“Yeah, thanks,” You accepts the offer and gets back on her feet.

Dejection haunts Riko as she sees the idiocy behind such an attempt. She gets back up on her own and hides her tears, but still refuses to accept the reality unfolding.

The tension is poised to spill as do the fan of embers across the woods. Only a worried Chika and her idea of dousing the fire can stop the disaster. “So…uh, we still don’t have a name for our group yet. Any school idol group needs a name.  Got any good ideas?”

Be it having no idea worth their interest or the tension proving too much for a casual talk, Hanamaru and Ruby keep mum. They fear reprisal, even if they have nothing to do with the current feud.

“Anyone?” Chika turns to the feuding members, whose trade of unspoken death threats adds to the swelling dread.

In the spirit of camaraderie, You speaks up. “How about _CHURRY_?”

“CHURRY?” asked Chika.

“C-H-U-R-R-Y. Take all the first letters of our names and mash them.”

The ingenuity that the letter U is a creative play on You’s name completely slips Chika’s mind in her elation. “Ooh, interesting idea. Anyone else agrees?”

A high-and-mighty Riko begs to differ. “Sorry, but that just sounds absurd.”

“What’s absurd about it? Some idol groups do it, amateur _and_ pro.”

“And they’re absurd like the suggestion.”

“And I suppose you have a better idea, princess?”

“Well, if I have to,” Riko fidgets a few times before putting her best foot forward. “Since we all met on this seaside town, how about _Mermaid Melody_?”

“That _sounds_ familiar. But I like it, too,” Chika smiles, not once thinking about the pitfalls of naming their group after a popular franchise. One such pitfall might put them at odds with the law.

Not that anyone except You cares. “Bad idea, Chika-chan. We’ll get _sued_.”

“Sued? For what?” Riko replied.

“And it’s not just that. People will see that we lack originality.”

“Having the same name doesn’t mean we’re copying.”

“Sure, and humans aren’t critics.”

“Better than mashing some random letters.”

“At least I tried.”

All hope of defusing the tension rests on Yoshiko pushing the opposing parties away. “Cut it out, both of you. We’re not gonna get things done by biting each other’s heads off.” You and Riko calm down, to the group’s relief, only because a common friend asked nicely.          

“Yoshiko-chan, do you have any suggestions?” Chika asked.

“Yohane! And yes, I have one: _The Fallen Six_.”

Before any explanation behind the suggestion can be given, Hanamaru and her dry humor flatly refuse it. “We’re not fallen angels, zura.”

“Foolish mortal,” Yoshiko switches to her persona, although it may also be part of her ruse. “Humans are simply angels and demons who chose to deny their existence. They may no longer have their powers, but they cannot deny their roots.” Her offhand remarks hold a candle to the shared nature of angels and demons, as Ruby hides her guilt.

“Vetoed, zura.”

“You cannot deny your origins, mortals.”

“ _Still_ vetoed, zura.”

“Got any better ideas, Zuramaru?”

“No, but yours is still terrible.”

“No fair!”

The search for a name reaches an impasse.“Maybe we should give this more thought,” Chika ends the debate with a look of trepidation. “Let’s all come up with one tonight and share them tomorrow. Sound good?”

Amidst the apathy, the plan is a welcome substitute to the cycle of criticism. But it only delays the inevitable hate that threatens to tear the group apart. And for that, the leader hints her worry toward the two girls she can still trust.

**~O~**

THE LINE IN THE SAND draws up the inherence of the row. Deprived of her most cherished happiness, Riko stands alone against the fallen angels. Perhaps before the chance encounter, the Lonely Sword more than lives up to her name as an army of one against any belligerent. But as a cloud of doubt dampens her resolve, the Lonely Sword takes an entirely new meaning, one of loneliness. No other future lies ahead for a relationship ended by a revelation most ghastly than a battle to the death. Riko waits for the day of reckoning with a faltering spirit, her sworn enemies with gusto. That day will come soon.

Outside the affairs of the extramundane, their mortal friends seek a way to end the tension. Within the walls of the club room, days of grievances paint a bleak picture in a canvas of matches. Riko seems to always find a reason to refuse attendance as long as the fallen angels are present. By coincidence, either Yoshiko or You disappear into thin air when Riko is present. In the days that follow, only one of three shows interest in furthering the club’s goals. And in the days following those days, all three never show up.

“Sorry for calling you two here on such short notice,” Chika addresses the elephant in the room before Hanamaru and Ruby, the two girls still worth trusting. “Something’s going on with Yoshiko-chan, You-chan, and Riko-chan. And I’m losing sleep over it.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Ruby sighed in relief.

“Yoshiko-chan’s not picking up, zura,” Hanamaru hangs up after several failed tries.

“What about You-chan and Riko-chan?” Ruby asked.

To which Chika sighed in despair. “No good. They’re not answering either.”

Three minds convene, seeking a way to achieve peace as soon as possible. Without the root cause of the dispute, the convention can only go so far. As evidenced by their attendance in the club, gathering them up in one place is out of the question. All the same if they cannot coax the girls out. A show of force will only deepen the wedge among them, not that mortals have any chance against creatures with enough force to end all life on Earth.

The convention has just about run out of ideas when Hanamaru gets her Eureka moment. “What if we try talking to them individually?”

“You mean split up?” Ruby asked in reply.

“They won’t have to know. They won’t get in each other’s way, zura.”

“I guess that could work. But who’s gonna talk to who?”

With her head up high, Hanamaru risks her life to talk to the Guilty Barrel. “Leave the fallen angel to me, zura!” she slams her chest with confidence.

“Are you sure?” replied a reserved Chika.

“Trust me. I’ve known her long enough to know what gets her attention, zura.”

As a witness to such confidence, Chika’s doubts die out. “I trust you, Hanamaru-chan. I’ll go talk to Riko-chan—”

Ruby intercedes. “Wait! Let me talk to Riko-chan instead.”

“Ruby-chan?”

“I…um…I think I can get Riko-chan to reconsider.”

“But I live closer to Riko-chan, so…”

Ruby’s own confidence is hard to deny. “Please…just give me this.”

The group leader has no reason to refuse, although she finds the outburst uneasy. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll go talk to You-chan instead.”

“Looks like that’s everyone, zura.”

Chika witnesses the sunset, the end of the convention. “I hope we’re not too late.”


	19. Dirty Secret

_Something about Ruby yesterday surprised me. It’s not like I really wanted to talk to Riko-chan, but I thought it was more practical that way. I decided to let her have her way. I really have no reason to refuse._

_Anyway, I’ve never seen You-chan so worked up. She’s usually cool and friendly around people, not to mention the club. The moment she walked up and offered me a taiyaki, I realized that she was an interesting character. Now that I’m close to her house, I intend to find out what troubles her._

_I’m not about to let the club—or our friendship—fall apart._

\--Excerpt from Chika’s mind

 

In a long, incessant whistle, steam wafts out of a brewing kettle heated to aptness. Inside it, the choice beverage for an important dialogue between friends brews to the right flavor and warmth. Contrasting mugs accept the generous stream of the beverage alongside a bowl of rice crackers. Soon, afternoon teatime makes its way to the lounge. The host treats her guest with as much hospitality as possible, as social norm dictates.

Chika, the honored guest on a clear-skied weekend, takes one of the mugs in her hands. The tea nearly spills on her lap, owing to the generous amount the mug holds. Somehow, it reminds her of the time when her life changed with a simple offer of _taiyaki_. How often does one find a good friend through sudden selflessness? Surely the good friend Chika shares tea with is still the same friend that extended a helping hand in her time of need. Behind the calm way You drinks her tea is a personality certainly unable of holding grudges even when provoked. If anything else, all the more reason Chika must find out the nature of the grudge that provoked You.

“I didn’t know you live with Yoshiko-chan,” Chika helps herself to a cracker.

“Just until my parents find a good house,” You replied. “Yocchan’s mother has been so kind to let me stay for the meantime.”

“But where’s Yoshiko-chan?”

“Some business to attend to. She’ll be along.”

“You’re really close with Yoshiko-chan, aren’t you?”

“We’ve been joined at the hip since childhood. Someone has to play along with her shtick.”

“I guess. She’s just…misunderstood.”

Setting her mug down, You tells a story. More like the history of a friend who only desires to be special in a critical society. Humans today have little interest in such mischief, but You sees a whole new world. For the rest of her life, she clings onto Yoshiko as does moss to a damp wall, protecting her from the ills that wish her harm. When society deems that Yoshiko is “too good” for them, You puts her on a higher pedestal. When Yoshiko falls as a result of her inadequacy, You breaks her fall even at the cost of a few broken bones. When fate wishes for Yoshiko to suffer, You willingly suffers with her. And even after such sacrifices Yoshiko chooses to turn a blind eye and deaf ear, You will never stop protecting her.

The story inspires both fear and admiration. The resolve to be the recipient of harm for the sake of a cherished bond is irrefutable. If anything, You of all people deserves Yoshiko’s friendship even if treated like a disposable napkin. Anyone else being treated a similar fashion will certainly be up in arms and break away at the onset.

“You might ask why go _that_ far to please someone,” You added. “Why not? Wouldn’t _you_ take the fall or share the pain of someone you love? As a friend, of course.”

Chika’s words trickle, stunned beyond belief. “You-chan, that’s not…”

“That’s how it’s always been, between Yocchan and me,” No matter how much tea You has drunk, despair never seems to run empty. Eventually, her grip on the mug trembles out of a blend of dread and rage. Some of the tea spill out in the show of intense emotion. “So why? Why must I lose Yocchan to some girl she’s only met?”

“You-chan, I…”

“It hurts, Chika-chan. It hurts more than all that I’ve suffered for Yocchan.”                       

The quiver stops, replaced by a lull in the dialogue and a quiet stream of sadness. As the first sobs deepen the gloom, Chika responds with a hug from behind. The warmth brings comfort to her friend’s troubled spirit, although she hopes to do more than just share the pain. “You-chan, is there anything I can do to sort this thing out? Without losing friends?”

“Just…believe in me.”

Chika’s hug tightens. “I believe you.”

You accepts her friend’s warmth. “Thank you, Chika-chan.”

“I should be thanking you. For believing in me back then.”

“Anything for a friend.”

From the dining table, the conversation continues on the floor where Chika’s embrace holds. A soothing silence allows them to enjoy each other’s company, the entire house all to themselves for the morning. You rests easy in her friend’s embrace and the ticklish touch of her hair. The dread and rage inside her all but vanish, the little that remains unable to take hold of her spirit. If only such a moment can last forever…

Then, the slow stroke of a hand between You’s legs startles her. “Chika-chan?”

From sympathy, Chika’s tone abruptly changes to one of seduction. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re cute when you cry?”

You squeals at a bolder touch of her sweet spot. “Aaah!”

“Hee, hee. Your squeal’s just as cute.”

“Chika-chan?”

“Let’s play, You-chan.”

The fallen angel gasps in shock.

**~O~**

THE FEW GENTLE strokes give way to a slow entry into the door of dreams. The plaid miniskirts come off for both, but Chika controls this affair of copulation. One hand thrusts deep into her friend’s door, the other invites her friend’s hand to the same to her. Warm intimacy follows the exchange of hollow gasps between the girls. The caresses grow bolder with each passing minute, as well as the gasps. Amidst You’s squeals of varying tones, from the peep of mice to a full orgasm, Chika feels the penchant for brunette hair. Through the strands, a nose hungry for a certain scent reaches for the back of You’s neck. Soon, a slow lick partakes in delicate flesh.

You bears the brunt of the unsung dark side of the innocent Chika. No aura of an angel or demon gone astray. No mysterious energy emanating beneath the flesh. No hidden story of such behavior. Chika is as mortal as the classmate who sits next to her at school, a mortal capable of casting an enthralling spell to a perverted fallen angel. _Why?_ You’s mind races amidst her orgasm. _Chika-chan’s just human. So why…does it feel so good?_

“Does it feel good, You-chan?”

“Chika-chan, this is wrong. I…I love Yocchan…”

The lust continues unabated. “Of course you do, You-chan. Just let me play with you for a while. Then, you can go back to the one you love.”

“Chika-chan, I…kyah!”

“You’re so cute. Like my very own _nesoberi_.”

“B-But…Yocchan…”

“I told you. You can go back to the one you love after this.”

“Still…this is…”

“I believe you, You-chan. Will you believe in me, too?”

In a knee-jerk reaction, You swings her head toward Chika and delivers a decisive kiss. The surprise of the first few seconds dies down, replaced by wild infatuation the longer the kiss persists. No longer does You hold any reservations about “playing” with anyone other than her beloved Yoshiko as she presses her lips further, emboldening Chika to respond in kind.

The brief intercourse reaches its climax as they withdraw their hands, blanketed by their own fluids, from each other’s door of dreams. The satisfied groans of two friends treating each other like playthings mark the climax of their infatuation. Soon, they feast on their share of love in their hands, savoring drop after drop while under the lasting allure. An unknown craving takes over You and feeds on the mortal’s love, a far cry from her typical perversions. Her blank gaze turns from her friend’s trance to the door oozing with more of the fluid she hungers.

Without hesitation, You pushes Chika down on the floor. The door lays open. “Chika-chan…you started this. You better last.”

A naughty Chika simply giggles. “Go ahead. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“Chika-chan…”

“What are you waiting for?”

Perversion wastes no time partaking in the blessing with a chomp, her aroused victim jerking. Gasp after gasp, Chika nearly runs out of breath but hangs on in exchange for more pleasure. Her hands even encourage a deeper push by pressing Chika’s head. The demonic tongue licks all over her virginity. “You-chan, I…I’m gonna…”

Along comes a shrill of pleasure, a burst splashing out of the door. You’s mouth is half-filled with it. “I’m so glad I met you, Chika-chan,” she pants, exhausted but ecstatic.

“Me too, You-chan. Me too.”

“Do you…really believe in everything I said?”

“Of course. I’ll share your pain, You-chan.”

“Thank you, Chika-chan.”

One last kiss seals their bond. The brooding sentiment within the club is never raised.


	20. Peacemonger

_That incident where a military truck blew up. No manmade weapon can create that much damage by accident. It’s definitely the work of a battle._

_There’s no need for Chika-chan and Hanamaru-chan to be involved in this. I saw the battle with my own eyes. I’m certain that Riko-chan—no, Ricosia-san—was among those involved. Maybe she, too, is tired of the war and wants to live in peace. Onee-chan and I can help her with that._

\--Excerpt from Ruby’s mind

 

A conflict whose magnitude spans untold realms and whose design veiled in ambiguity can never see any end. A conflict where victory is measured by losses instead of gains sees a future rife with the fallen bathing in their own blood. And for these reasons a number of “enlightened” warriors from both sides lay down their arms and seek peace in an unscathed world. Despite the name, the term is used in vehement criticism of those who abandon their ideals for heresies like neutrality. For their surfeit of differences, harmony and discord share a common opinion of the enlightened: “Should you refuse to stand for us, you intend to stand against us.” The sentence for such actions, angel or demon, has been exemplified by the Guilty Barrel many times: death without question.

For this the blood sisters Adamia and Ruberi live in fear, their mortal aliases keeping them hidden from prying eyes of the heavens and the Underworld. Never have they revealed their true forms even in self-defense, let alone dare to do so. They intend for their angelic and demonic nature to die out, even as they hunger for the power that comes with such. Their mortal forms will certainly live on, but the trade-off has been a source of great concern. Do they truly mean to shed their wings and walk among creatures not of their own race? And what of their pursuers once they deliver a fate shared by the enlightened before them? The price is too great for an eternity of peace, not even guaranteed in a world of flaws.

 _This is what you wanted. Right, Ruby?_ Dia’s words ring true of her sister, the architect of the new life they have chosen. But today, she sees a purpose apart from the original. She wishes to share this new life with others who are likewise weary of the conflict, a view her older sister flatly opposes. For this, Ruby needs proof. And she hopes to find it with her visit to Riko’s house.

“Ruby-chan,” Riko answers the visitor’s call. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?”

“I…I want to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”

“I’m guessing it’ll take the good part of the day.”

“I guess.”

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.”

The living room is the epitome of purity. An ivory sheen fills the room despite little daylight passing through the few windows. Ornaments line up tidily on top of their pedestals, some by order of height and others by category. The faint chime of a _furin_ overlooking the veranda adds calm. Not a speck or stain tarnishes the sofa where the girls settle in comfort for the lengthy dialogue to come. The devotion to a sanctified home is as expected of a divine being that thrives in all that is good.

Ruby’s unease shows, clear as day. Riko’s worry is only natural. “What’s wrong, Ruby-chan?”

“Well, you see,” the sheepish Ruby speaks up, falling short of revealing her doubts.

“I apologize if I haven’t been faithful to practice lately. I’ll come tomorrow, for sure.”

“That’s not…what I mean is…”

“Is there something else?”

Given all the courage she can muster, Ruby will show no fear standing up for her ideals. She, on some occasions, has even outspoken her sister…but only if she can actually muster enough.

Fortunately, in this occasion, she does. “Riko-chan, I…I know who you are.”

“Eh? Well, you most certainly do.”

“No, I mean…I know you’re Ricosia the Lonely Sword.”

“Rico-who?”

“I know you’re tired of all the fighting. That’s why I’m here to help.”

“What are you talking about, Ruby-chan? Is he…or she from a game or something?”

This time, Riko’s anxiety shows through cold sweat, in plain sight of Ruby who tells her: “There’s no need to be afraid. I can help you get settled in a life of peace.”

“But…I’m already living a peaceful life. Yeah…”

“Ricosia-san, please!”

“Ruby-chan, I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you?”

The kettle’s whistle rings true from the kitchen, a prompt to tend to the fresh brew. “Ah, the tea’s ready. Let me just get that, okay?” A sigh of relief follows Riko’s reply as she turns her back on the expository exchange. Maybe she can get away with feigning ignorance, after all.

Then, the terrifying din of netherworld chains gets her attention back.

The pale look at the sight of Ruby’s hands and feet spread out by the chains in midair finally makes her understand. “Do I have your attention now?” Ruby smiled.

“Ruby-chan…what’s going on?”

“Let me show you.”

By Ruby’s silent will, the chains begin pulling her body outward, the Underworld’s version of medieval torture. Her sharp shrill marks the start of her suffering in plain sight. Fragile limbs tear at the pulling strength of a legion of Herculean slaves, adding to her anguish. Riko’s pallor grows as she witnesses delicate skin tearing all over her friend’s mortal shell. Part of her spirit desires to turn away from such a gruesome sight, even put an end to Ruby’s suffering by any means, but the steely grip of terror forces her to watch every second of it.

Finally, the screams of pain stop at the total sunder of flesh and bone, head to toe. Strangely, the minute of torture reveals another Ruby tucked in, bathed in a lucid but sinister aura. She unfurls, grinning at Riko as she barely covers her breasts and virginity, and finding pleasure as her impish wings and tail break free. Dark flames, similar to Yohane and Yusari, glow in several areas of her body. Together, the flames form a dress revealing as it is bristling with dark energy.

Here, the Lonely Sword finally realizes that feigning ignorance is pointless.

**~O~**

“THOSE WINGS,” Riko eyes every detail of the former servant of discord before her. “They don’t look like a fallen angel’s. Are you…?”

Indeed, the impish wings and tail are trademarks of elfin demons. Masters of mischief, elfins fill the cesspool of demonic society, subject under an eternity of bigotry by higher forms. In a battle, however, they serve the cause of discord with distinction as walking time bombs. Inspired by their lords who take advantage of their one-track minds, against hordes of angels they give their lives in an earthshaking explosion. The society mourns for none of the creatures, as in their eyes they breed like flies—by the hundreds every day.

Ruberi, on the other hand, is a special case.

“You certainly don’t look like an elfin,” Riko said.

“It’s…a long story,” Ruberi replied. “But if you want proof, I can blow up—”

“No, no, no! Not in this house. Not in a million years. Actually, _never_ blow up at all.”

“I’m just kidding.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny. Stay here while I go get the tea.”

The dialogue continues over a coincidental snack of tea and rice crackers. Riko’s gaze is fixed at minute details of the elfin before her, namely her sentience. Whereas the typical elfin is but a mindless beast tamed to be spent in war, Ruberi shows reason and emotion. Sadly, these redeeming qualities have estranged her from the rest, if they can even show that they do. The only language elfins know is one of cackling, no matter the emotion, provided that they can feel. Overall, Ruberi’s existence is a mystery no great angelic or demonic scholar desires to study.

Riko finds another to add to the enigma. “I sense light within you. You’re a demon, but you have powers similar to mine.”

“Onee-chan is the same in a way,” Ruberi replied. “She’s an angel but has demonic powers.”

“Onee-chan? You mean Dia-san?”

“Uh huh. She’s Adamia the Resolute, a former champion of harmony.”

“So this is where she ended up. We fought side by side many times.”

The time for miscellaneous talk ends. The elfin and her candor now seek the Lonely Sword’s true agenda on Earth. Did she come here to, like the sisters, seek peace from the futility of war? Or is she on a mission, perhaps to secure the realm for the heavens? There can be nothing else outside of these two reasons, as Ruberi explains with confidence.

But there is. “I…I just want to give Yocchan happiness.”

“Yocchan? Yoshiko-chan? Yohane-chan?!” replied the shocked elfin.

“I know Yocchan is out to get me. I know she hates me since she’s left with no choice but to kill me. I even gave her a few chances back then.”

“So that’s why… you never raised your blade against her.”

“But if my death will bring her happiness, I won’t have it any other way.”

“Ricosia-san, that’s absurd! Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

“Ruberi-chan…you of all people should know. How it feels to be disliked by your own kin.”

“Disliked…?”

“How you’re still disliked despite doing your best? How much of that do you think is true?”

“You have a point. But there _has_ to be another way.”

“I’m afraid _this_ is the only way.”

Inside her head, Riko winces at the pain of Yohane’s words on that fateful evening. _You were supposed to be the only friend I have. And now I have to kill you for real! Why, Riri?! Why did you do this?!_ Soon, the sonata of her inevitable death will play. Not a soul will mourn for her, not even the heavens and its denizens. The Underworld will rejoice her graceless fall, either as she bathes in her blood or is corrupted in service to the evil powers. But perhaps, she can find peace in knowing that her beloved will be the executioner.

Perhaps she seeks peace after all; just not the kind Ruberi has sought for ages.

The bell rings for another guest. Ruberi reverts to her human form, flesh and bone anew, as Riko opens the door. Behind it, Dia sends her glaring displeasure Ruby’s way, grazing Riko. “Ruby, I sensed your power as I passed by. I told you to never transform into Ruberi again.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, onee-chan,” Ruby lowers her head in guilt.

Riko intercedes. “Wait, Dia-san. It’s my—”

“This doesn’t concern you, Lonely Sword,” part of Dia’s wrath heads the fellow angel’s way. After expecting no reply, her glare returns to Ruby. “Pack your things, Ruby. We go home at once.”

“O-Okay…”

Riko can only watch her guest walk past her, out the door and into Dia’s iron grip. The sisters walk away, but not before the former champion of harmony leaving something for a certain fellow to ponder on. Her glare justifies the intent of her message.

“Never come for us again, Lonely Sword. Or you shall answer to _me_.”


	21. A Guilty Day at the Beach (100 Kudos Special)

_My drive for writing fan fiction comes and goes with the fandom I’m writing for. But Love Live takes it a step up, motivating me to embark on the most ambitious fan fiction project I’ve ever done. “Guilty Barrel” is just one in an expanse of ideas on the tray, a product of the mundane eight-hour real-life profession._

_Today, the guilty saga of the fallen angel Yohane reaches its first milestone: a hundred kudos. It might seem little, but it’s enough appreciation for me to push on, as I know there are people taking interest. As my token of appreciation, I’ve written this special chapter that doesn’t fit in any part of the story (think of it as eye-candy OVA) but is a glimpse of what’s to come._

_We’re halfway done. Here’s to another hundred kudos (and some comments, too)._

\--plumeraccoon

 

“Four in the morning, they said. Be on time, they said.”

Under the fleeting darkness, the warmth of a teacup radiates in the chilly predawn breeze. The calm sip of the first serving mingles with the crunch of sand against the weight of kneeling. First light thins the night sky, and the feeble roar of a distant beast echoes in the breeze. Yet, not even the end of humankind can hope to dissuade Hanamaru from enjoying her morning tea by the cusp of the waves. She values the lovely brew as she does punctuality. With the patience of a carefree soul, she finds the creeping illumination of the horizon to her liking, a silver lining of waiting for her friends.

Then, a sudden mass crashes into the sand, scant feet from ruining teatime. Unfazed by the spray of sand, Hanamaru keeps her attention on the brew and the stillness of dawn. Make no mistake, however, that she turns a blind eye on what—or who—just crashed. “Good morning, You-chan. Sorry, I mean Yusari-chan.”

“Oh, Hanamaru-chan,” Yusari dusts off the sand from her wings and dress. A few wounds make themselves apparent through torn fabric. “You’re early.”

“Dia-san said to meet here at four in the morning. And I did exactly that, zura.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was actually on my way when Riko-chan pounced on me.”

“Riko-chan… _pounced_ on you?”

“Yup. She’s actually above that island over there.”

“Well, at least now you’re here. Just…try to keep it down, zura.”

“Will do,” the fallen angel flies back to the distant fight. “See you later!”

“Just another day, zura. Just another day.”

An important day, at that, a step on the road to coexistence.

After a brutal struggle, Earth is finally left to its own devices, never to become a battlefield in the endless conflict of light and darkness. The watchful eyes of the heavens and the Underworld, unfortunately, have yet to focus their attention elsewhere. As long as the heretical troupe of the Guilty Barrel remains in the world, casting off their wings or otherwise, harmony and discord will forever be tied to their fates. The concord its denizens have toiled throughout their history can be broken once more, vast armies to succeed where words fail. Save for postponing the apocalypse, nothing in humanity’s fate has changed.

“First day of showing the two factions how we can coexist and they’re already fighting,” Dia saunters to meet the waves, looking beyond the buoys to the flashes of clashing steel. “I hope Mari-san’s crazy plan works. Neither harmony nor discord have any patience for horseplay.”

Hanamaru pours some tea for her. “Have some tea, Dia-san.”

“Thank you, Hanamaru-san. I could use some calm right now.”

“Just let them work it out of their system. They’ll come around.”

“Do you have any idea how much destruction an angel or demon is capable of?”

“That’s why we’re all here, right?”

As unimpressive the remark is, Dia agrees with a reluctant sigh. “You have a point.”

“Now, finish your tea before it gets cold, zura.”

What is a miscellany of angels, demons, and mortals to do amidst prying eyes? Nothing can be done about those who observe from the shadows, lest a show of force risk giving them a reason to return. With some reluctance, they agree with Mari and her avant-garde way of thinking. Meet up at the beach at early dawn, don their best swimwear, and simply have fun. The fervor among mortals like Hanamaru is normal. Those not of this world, however, are left stunned by the lack of detail. Just what exactly does it mean to “have fun,” by mortal standards?

Yusari crashes on the beach a second time, her face plastered with sand. “Ow, that one really stung,” she giggles at a random thought. “Not as painful as what Yocchan does.” Her type of fun involves the tandem of sadism and masochism. If nothing else, she lives up to her title by deriving pleasure from the perversion of everything she picks up. Surely this cannot be the type of fun the girls seek.

The Perverted Peltast attempts to return to the fight, only to be bashed in the face by Dia’s shield. Once again, the fallen angel earns a mask of sand.

“What part of ‘coexistence’ don’t you get?!” yelled Dia.

“Whaaaaat? Riko-chan and I are just playing around,” replied Yusari.

“Playing around?” a livid Ricosia gently touches down on the beach. “You attacked me from out of nowhere! In my own home, no less!”

“That’s your _own_ fault for being careless,” Yusari pouts.

“Yocchan’s waiting for me to come pick her up. We agreed to go to the beach together.”

“Huh? Yocchan invited ME to go to the beach together.”

“Could you stop calling her Yocchan? That’s my signature nickname for her.”

“Well excuuuuuuse me, Solo Sword. I’ve been calling her Yocchan _far_ longer than you.”

“S-Solo?!”

“I think it’s a beautiful name, don’t you think?”

Hostilities between the rivals for Yohane’s heart flare up again. Fortunately, Dia is more than eager to knock—or bash—some sense into them. “ENOUGH ALREADY!” The two immediately ask for her mercy, lest they yearn for more of her wrath. “We’re going to do this and do this _right_. So I don’t want you two raining destruction all around the city. Got it?”

Arriving with the rest of the gang, Kanan laughs at the unfurling scene. “That’s Adamia for you. She’s not called Adamia the Resolute for nothing.”

“She’s as headstrong as that shield of hers,” Yoshiko remarked.

“That’s why she’s _perfect_ for our little activity today,” Mari replied.

And it starts with the headstrong angel turning around to scold them. “You’re all late!”

**~O~**

WORLDS WITH WATER exist across universes, as many as the grandiose beaches that come with them. The moment the war comes to such worlds, however, the beaches become devoid of denizens (if not beaches are naturally devoid of such). In fighting for the distinct survival of the superior race, neither angels nor demons allow even a minute for dawdling. In the end, the beach turns into a mass grave, waves soaked with the blood and viscera of the fallen. Not a denizen will ever dare to swim in such waters after this mere skirmish in a conflict that spans multiple worlds.

The company of angels and demons under Earth’s care stares down the waves and unspoiled waters, clearly at a loss. Their swimwear of choice, each in their desired shade, fails to give them a clue as to what to do next. It takes an enthusiastic Chika running to the water to get them started. “Come on, everyone! The water’s great!”

“So…that’s it?” You tilts her head in confusion. “You just…get into the water?” Owing to her best friend, she follows Chika to the water where a soothing sensation envelops her. The rest of the girls take to the water, enthused by the promise of serenity.

“See, see? This is how you beach,” Chika beamed.

“Angels aren’t exactly water creatures,” Riko giggled.

“Some demons prefer to bathe in _lava_ ,” Yoshiko holds her head up high.

“Lava, you say?”

“Our bodies are made to resist the flames of hell. So lava is nothing.”

“Fascinating.”

For all her bravado, Yoshiko fails to mention what You tells all. “Throw her in a volcano in this world and she’ll melt down to the bone.” Confusion among the girls is short-lived, as she adds that Earth lava possesses properties apart from Underworld lava. “Remember that one time when you threw that rogue demon down the throat of Mt. Fuji? His flesh _literally_ fell off the bone. Beautiful, if I say so myself.”

The bravado vanishes, leaving a red-faced Yoshiko to lock her colleague’s head in a chicken wing. Adding to her humiliation is You’s enjoyment of her punishment. “Been a while since you did this, Yocchan. But your lock’s a little loose.”

“I did NOT ask for your opinion,” Yoshiko tightens her lock, to You’s delight.

“You two sure are close, zura,” Hanamaru said. “It’s as if I never see one without the other.”

Indeed, such is the life of sisters-in-arms, two who swear to fight as one.

“You don’t,” You replied casually despite the arm lock. “We’re _always_ together, for better or worse.”

“In sickness and health, zura?”

“‘Till death do us part.”

Riko jumps in on an absurd oversight. “Hah! You forgot ‘to love and to cherish.’”

“We’re doing wedding vows now?” replied a red-faced You. “Oh gosh, Yocchan…”

“Wait, that’s not even—oh, geez!”

“I…I’m not ready to have kids, Yocchan. But if you want…”

“No one’s having a family!” Yoshiko balked.

From the side, Dia watches the rivals carry on with their banter. For once in her lifetime as a (former) servant of harmony, her remorse for the Guilty Barrel’s situation is genuine. “Guess it’s not easy being a friend to those two, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” Yoshiko presses her head in annoyance. “I’ve been spending more time breaking up their squabbles than hunting down rogue demons. It takes its toll somehow.”

“Would you rather have it any other way, though?”

Yoshiko glances at the bickering by her rivals. With a slight smile, she cherishes such matters as part of a budding bond. “I guess not. What about you?”

“You don’t have to worry about us. Ruby and I are fine the way things are.”

“That’s great.”

“This is our home now. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.”

“Even if it means fighting your kinsmen?”

“ _Whatever_ it takes.”

Suddenly, Dia gets her chance to do so, starting with Ruby’s terrified shriek.

**~O~**

“ONEE-CHAN, HEEEELP!” cries the helpless elfin, her life dangling at the end of the feeler of a gargantuan octopus-like creature. Its head of countless teeth slavers at the inevitable meal, more so as its feelers slither beneath its victim’s swimwear. Soon, her hands and feet are conveniently tied for the monster to partake in an unusual pleasure, starting with her virginity. “Ah! Please, not there! It’s not—” further cries for help fall silent as the monster plugs her mouth with another feeler. The elfin’s look of fear turns into one of sexual joy, accepting the pleasure coursing through her body. Her friends, however, see disaster.

“Unhand her, you fiend!” Dia’s furious demand fails to dissuade the creature.

All the while, You finds time to jest about the situation. “You mean ‘un-tentacle’ her, right?”

“This is no time to be screwing around, pervert. Help me get Ruby down.”

“Oh, so I’m the pervert now? Not that you’re wrong, though.”

The onslaught of the creature commences, flailing its free feelers against the girls. With their wings, the angels and demons steer clear of harm, but the mortals barely escape its wrath. Its attacks come too fast for the warriors to cast off their swimwear for their battle outfits. Without divine and chaotic energies from their garbs to shield them, they steel their instincts. A well-placed hit can lay waste to the strongest of warriors.

Her shield resonating with her resolve, Dia thwarts the monster’s attempt on her life. Yet she knows this impasse cannot last forever. “Where did this abomination come from, anyway?”

“Oh, that’s my contingency plan,” Mari replied calmly beside her.

“Your WHAT?!”

“Just in case I can’t get all of you to get along, I took the liberty of taming this beast. But it seems like it managed to escape its pen.”

“You’re insane, Mari-san! Insane!”

“Ah, don’t sweat it, Dia. You can beat it.”

“Do you even know what this creature is?”

Another lash by the creature staggers the immovable resolve and its shield. The fear in Dia’s eyes seeps into Mari’s playful spirit. “Dia?”

“You don’t know what you’ve just set loose upon this world, Mari-san.”

The rest of the warriors eventually share the same horror, before them lies the only Greater Tendron in existence across countless universes. The eldritch bane of a certain distant world flails its hundred arms in a declaration of utter ruin. Lash after lash, its godlike strength sows fear among angel and demon alike. Lash after lash, it staggers the shield crafted to resist Dectera’s hammer until it throws both Dia and Mari to the other end of the beach.

Another reason to fear this creature goes deeper than its jaws, as Riko notes Ruby’s false pleasure. “That thing’s drawing extra power from Ruby-chan,” She cuts through the tentacles with ease but not as fast as the creature can remake them. The risk of capture being too great, she flies away as soon as the tentacles give chase.

“Well, that’s just _splendid_ ,” remarked a sarcastic You. “We go out of our way just to show the world that we can be pals, only for an ungodly ugliness to ruin it. Well done, cruel fate. Well done.”

“That’s not helping, You-chan.”

“Were you expecting it to? Just look at that. Humans _do_ have their own dirty little secrets.”

“If you wanna grumble about the flaws of humanity, do it _after_ we’ve rescued Ruby-chan.”

“Oh sure, I don’t mind. I got _plenty_ of time now that I’m grounded on this backwater plane.”

“You-chan!”

Again, it falls on Yoshiko to stop the argument in the middle of a mismatched fight. “That’s eno—”

The Tendron reacts, reeling in Yoshiko by her hands and feet. You and Riko watch helplessly as the monster gives her the same erotic treatment to siphon her dark powers. Titillated by the surge of energy, the feelers flail with greater ferocity and destroy all in their way. Kanan’s reckless charge to save her allies is brushed aside as does dirt from clothing. One can only imagine the horrors of the creature seizing another source of power, perhaps one as formidable as the Guilty Barrel. It might render the beast nigh impervious to all threats.

The rivals soon find themselves as the only warriors left. The prospect of a truce leaves a bad taste in their palates, but even worse is their friends at the mercy of the monster.        

“You-chan,” Riko pleads. “Our friends need our help.”

“You don’t say?” You smirked.

“You can hate me all you want after this. But just this once…”

“Riko-chan…”

Another glimpse at the havoc below finally eases the animosity between them. “I…I’m sorry, Riko-chan…for my outbursts earlier.” You said.

“Do you miss your old life?” Riko asked.

“As long as I’m with Yocchan, I can live as many lives as I want.”

“Then let’s protect Yocchan together.”

“Yeah. Let’s do it, Riko-chan.”

A handshake forges an unlikely alliance in the midst of chaos, just in time to see the beast nab its third victim: an unconscious Kanan. They are granted one chance to turn the tide of the battle in their favor. They must act before the Dominion fully embraces the beast’s gift of pleasure.

Above the maw of the beast, beyond the reach of the flailing feelers, rifts open around You and reveal spearheads tainted with darkness. By her will, the spears rain down and pelt the heart of the creature, which reacts with a tangled barrier made with most of its own tentacles.

The spears bounce off the barrier, just as You expected. “Riko-chan, now!”

The few tentacles guarding the beast’s hostages stand no chance against the Lonely Sword’s prowess with the blade. The tentacles holding her friends fall before quick, clean slices, snapping them out of their stupor in the process. Riko grabs Ruby just as Yoshiko lifts Hanamaru out of the Tendron’s reach.

To Riko’s surprise, however, Ruby breaks free and flies back to the creature, clearly with a death wish. “Ruby-chan, where are you going?!”

The faint glow engulfing the elfin only means one thing to angels and demons. “We can’t let the monster put more people in danger. I’m going to self-destruct in its core.”

“No! It’s too—” Riko turns around to give chase, but Yoshiko bars her way. “Yocchan?”

“Have faith in Ruby, Riri.” Yoshiko said.      

Meanwhile, the glow intensifies as Ruby flies closer, a telltale sign of priming. In frantic response, every tentacle lashes at her with their stored might. Hit after hit, her shrill of pain daunts her friends looking on.

“I won’t let you hurt my friends!” Diving into the maw, Ruby unleashes her fury in a flash followed by the power of a hundred elfins. The creature’s remains scatter, its head torn to bloody shreds and feelers dropping dead in the water. Some reach the waterfront, staining windows and walls in its own blend of blood and sputum. Golden sand and the crashing waves are dyed red as the remains rain down along the beach.

But the worst is over: the once-indestructible monster is vanquished.

Adding to the good news, Ruby emerges from the carcass and waves at her friends who sigh in relief. She differs from the elfins who perish after giving their life in a single blaze of glory.

“Ruby-chan, are you hurt?” Riko flies to her side as would a worried mother.

“I’m okay,” Ruby smiled. “I only used a third of my explosive potential.”

“Jeez. Don’t scare us like that, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I’m more capable than you think.”

Yoshiko gives Riko a comforting hand. “See?”

An unexpected turn in a gathering of friends has done them good after all. Angel or demon, they share beams and the feeling of triumph as a group whose tightness is rivaled by woven fabric. Light and darkness can indeed coexist as long as the will to achieve it exists. Whether or not the skies or the earth have eyes, the battle has renewed opinions.  The truce between You and Riko is on the path to lasting peace. Yoshiko earns the appreciation of the cynical Dia. Hanamaru and Chika are glad to have powerful friends on their side. Kanan learns not to throw herself into the fray without a plan.

Will the forces of harmony and discord reconsider a plot against Earth? Only time will tell.

“Okay, everyone,” announced Dia. “Who’s up for a cleanup?”


	22. Forget Me Not

_Make new friends, but keep the old. Those are silver, these are gold._

\--Joseph Parry, Welsh composer (1841-1903)

 

“I’m lost, zura,” Hanamaru swivels her head to the marvels of modern civilization around her. Vibrant imagery flashes among the rows of flat screens, descendants of the black-and-whites the elderly enjoyed as youths. Behind the screens, store clerks exhibit handhelds and their surfeit of features, a far cry from the giants that once connected people far and wide. Music across genres fills the city streets through commanding speakers, blaring beyond the reach of human vocals. The sights overwhelm the maiden, whose reason for journeying into the new world is to visit Yoshiko and talk about her troubles. In great awe of the marvels she rarely enjoys, not only does she lose her bearing going to Yoshiko’s place but also her way back home. She regrets failing to know her fallen angel friend enough to get her address.

Moving away from the sights and sounds of a busy reality, the lost maiden enters the isolated city block. Unaware that the area has been the favored battlefield of good and evil, Hanamaru treads with her once-fretting heart filled with calm. Sheer coincidence has her pass by several certain spots, including the ground where Yohane briefly unleashed her wrath against Yusari. The ground has since healed, signs of the vicious skirmish unapparent. Not that she would know about the battle that transpired, let alone the combatants being two of her friends. “This sure is a weird place, zura. I like the quiet, but where are all the people?”

The silence almost renders her deaf when a loud crash shatters it. As with any mortal unwittingly writing her death wish, Hanamaru races to the source just a street corner away.

The nature of the noise has already revealed itself: another battle between two fallen angels. On one side is a rogue, the daughter of Death with a glowing red scythe. On the other is the famed Guilty Barrel, bleeding and exposing her assets out of torn fabric. Fear and shame swirl in Yohane’s heavy heart during a battle that finally bests her, against a former champion of discord. It might seem that she will be on the receiving end of an execution.

“So this is the almighty Guilty Barrel? What a joke,” the rogue demon taunted.

“I suggest you refrain from gloating until the battle’s end, rogue,” Yohane fires a shot or two in a show of defiance to defeat. The rogue parries them easily with her weapon of choice.

“I already told you. You cannot kill Death.”

“You are NO Death. You only speak of the coincidence of having a scythe as a weapon.”

“Whatever. I shall put you in your place.”

“Not if I put you down first.”

Heated slugs bounce off of the red-hot blade responsible for Yohane’s wounds, yet the hail of retribution refuses to let up. The rogue returns the favor but barely grazes her opponent and her lightning reflexes. The din of parried bullets and the ring of a scythe’s swing play a perilous melody amidst the silence. The tide of battle seesaws for a time.

In the end, the rogue indeed puts Yohane in her place, the edge of her scythe poised to claim the latter’s head. “All hype,” she gloats in her impending victory. “You insult the name of the Black Hand with your weakness. _I_ would have made a far better candidate.”

“At least I do not insult the Underworld by way of betrayal,” Yohane smirked.

“You are in no position to call me a traitor, _traitor_. Now die.”

Before the final blow can be delivered, the curious Hanamaru steps in to break up the melee in an eccentric manner. “Whoa! Is this what you call ‘cosplay?’ I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s so realistic, zura.” Yohane is left aghast at the nonchalance of her unlikely savior.

The rogue looks on in confusion, unable to savor the victory. “Back off, mortal!”

“Ooh, you show your character really well, zura.”

“I’m warning you, mortal. Do not test my patience.”

“How much does it cost? Must’ve been quite an investment, zura.”

“I _will_ put you to the blade if you do not cease at once!”

“Really? Show me, show me!”

Soon, the fallen angel’s wrath turns on Hanamaru, still clueless of the authentic danger. The blood-red scythe swings in a swift attempt to decapitate the lowly mortal. All an injured Yohane can do is to watch the inevitable. “ZURAMARU, NO!”

But her fear shatters along with the scythe, giving way to shock and disbelief. The rogue watches in stunned silence as pieces of her precious blade fall scant inches off of her victim’s feet. Her only implement of doom is gone.

“Impossible!” cried the rogue.

The ruse of naiveté is dropped. Hanamaru unbuttons her cardigan enough to give a glimpse of a dozen paper talismans pasted on its underside. Each pulsates with a unique power, neither angelic nor demonic. “Protective charms. Never leave home without one, zura.”

“Who…who in the world are you?”

“Why I’m just an ordinary shrine maiden, zura.”

“Do you expect me to believe that? There’s no way—”

“We can do this all day, zura. But the best you’ll be able to do is bore us both.”

Without her scythe, further battle is pointless. The rogue flies off cursing the two and vowing retribution. The Guilty Barrel escapes death at the hands of her kin, owing to a mortal who has been her guiding light on Earth for the longest time.

**~O~**

“REMEMBER THIS SPOT?” Hanamaru sits beside the fallen angel and watches her wounds close up. The peril of death barely fazes her, confident that the friendly Yoshiko within will stop the fallen angel from reckless action. They train their attention at the blue sky, an epitome of freedom only the banished from heaven can dream. “This is where we first met. You were really scary back then, even saying you’d kill me if I didn’t stop screaming.” Without turning her head, she feels the lethal breath of Yohane’s gun poised to claim another victim. “And here you are _still_ trying to kill me, zura.”

“Are you not scared, Zuramaru?” Yohane pulls down the hammer on her Hellstorm.

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to punch through twelve layers of shields. Even if you do…I know you won’t do it, zura.”

“How are you so certain of yourself?”

“You won’t, Yoshiko-chan. That’s all I can say.”

“Zuramaru—”

“You won’t.”

The barrel remains poised to ravage Hanamaru’s head but for only a minute. The pointlessness of another death, of her long-time mortal cohort no less, sways opinion against pulling the trigger. She lays down her weapon and reaches for comfort in her friend’s warm hand.

Over time, Yohane’s grip tightens. “I envy you, Zuramaru.”

“What for?”

“I see strength in you neither angels nor demons can possess…or comprehend.”

“Do you _always_ speak in riddles when in that form, Yoshiko-chan?”

“Yohane! And what do you mean by that?”

“Never mind. It’s probably none of my business, zura.” Perhaps no reason exists as to the fallen angel’s preference in speech, not that the attribute is exclusive to her. Other denizens of the Underworld also speak “like the olden fools,” as she puts it.

As the last of her wounds heal, Yohane cringes at the thought of her own failing. Her lack of stomach to end the lives of two mortals haunts her as she clears her name with the blood of rogues. One eventually reveals herself to be an angel in hiding, a champion of harmony no less, but hesitating to deliver swift death unto Hanamaru is inexcusable. Why not end her life so that she cannot be bothered with trifles like her safety? So that she cannot be mortified by defeat by the likes of her weaker kin?

Enough is enough. Further attachment with humans is a mistake.

With the closure of the last wound, she withdraws her hand from the warmth and rises. Perhaps sparing the shrine maiden can be afforded as long as one condition is met.

“Zuramaru,” Yohane began. “I want you to forget about me.”

Hanamaru hastily stands up. “What?”

“Forget that we ever met. Forget you ever met Yoshiko Tsushima. Forget it all.”

“You know that’s easier said than done, zura.”

“Just forget about me and get on with your miserable life.”

“And what of it? Will it help you move on?”

The mortal’s dogged persistence prompts Yohane to make good on her word with a show of force. Once more, the gun is poised to bore through cranial flesh. “You’re the reason! You’re the reason for my misery! If you value your life, I suggest you DO AS I SAY!” Her fiery eyes leak tears of sorrow, a glimpse into her emotions vying for control.

Hanamaru’s stoic response shocks her. “Then pull the trigger.”

“What?”

“You won’t have to worry about me when I’m dead, right?”

“Do you think this is a game?!”

“It may take you a while to get through my shields. But I’ll wait.”

“Zuramaru—”

“If you already made your choice, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

Hanamaru’s dissent earns her a shot fired out of fury. Two of her dozen shields shatter as does a rock against glass in no time. Yet she sees no reason to run away, let alone retaliate, even as pain seethes into her fragile flesh. She winces with every layer of protection breaking apart.

Then, the guns fall silent as the last shield is breached.

“Why did you stop?” Hanamaru asked. “One more bang and it’ll be over, zura.”

“I…I’m out of bullets,” Yohane replied with a hint of doubt.

“Liar.”

“I’m serious!”

“Then reload. I’ll wait.”

Instead, her trembling hand pulls the trigger inadvertently. A shot from an otherwise-empty gun grazes past Hanamaru, who barely blinks. “You’re afraid, Yoshiko-chan…afraid of being true to yourself. Just look at the big mess you’re turning into.”

The delay of the inevitable only insults her.

“DO IT, ZURA!!!”

An eternity passes before the impasse is finally ended. The last roar of the Hellstorm echoes true across time and space, the shriek of a young girl falling to her death following suit. The patch of pavement is dyed with her blood. Instead of a look of terror, she sends a final smile to her assassin as a reward for making her decision.

“I’m…so glad…Yoshiko…chan,” she draws her last breath, then her vision grows dark.     

And so the dilemma of the Guilty Barrel comes to an end. She stares at the work of a decision finally of her own dark heart, finding calm at the pool of blood creeping in all directions. Neither sadness nor discontent is justified with the loss. Not a tear shed. Not an exasperated cry against fate.

“Goodbye...Zuramaru,” she utters before flying away.


	23. Through the Madness

_The final nuisance has been disposed of. Nothing holds me back now._

_However, at our current state, I must admit that neither Yusari nor I can match the Lonely Sword to a blade. Her prowess knows no bounds, and Lord Cain knows that all too well. Soon, he granted us a plan to finally strike her down. We must seek the elfin demon who has taken refuge in this miserly realm and use her volatile power to cripple the champion of harmony. Not even she can withstand a paroxysm of fire even the Demon Prince fears._

_The notion of using these “suicide warriors” to uphold the will of discord sickens me. With my fury now directed to the Lonely Sword, however, this is no longer the case. The darkness can employ any plan it sees fit, but the killing blow will come from my hand and **my hand alone**._

\--Yohane’s journal, 15 days after arrival

 

“Begone, filth,” Yohane delivers her judgment after the trigger is pulled. The rogue demon on the receiving end of her wrath will never see the light of day again, falling before the Guilty Barrel’s feet a corpse. The rogue’s death is one in a trail of deathbeds slippery with blood. The hunt for the rest of the disloyal pack scampering about hardly stops to catch its collective breath, not with the cries of torture from a distance. Faithful to her tarnished moniker, Yohane spares no remorse for the suffering of deserters and traitors. The blood of the fallen staining her dress is of no inconvenience to her ascendancy. If anything, the more blood on her hands, the closer she gets to redemption. Nothing else matters, not even the few pleasant memories of the angel she regretted to befriend.

No longer can there be any alibis. The Lonely Sword is once again the trophy. The nuisance known as Hanamaru Kunikida has been dealt with. The feelings for the mortals she once called her “friends” are left for dead, as well as her mortal persona Yoshiko Tsushima. As the last of the rogues fall in anguish, she fixes her distant gaze on nothing but the fall of Ricosia. The fate of all characters in this tragedy will be decided by Yohane’s hand.

 _I am coming for you, Lonely Sword_.

“That’s the last of ‘em,” Yusari joins her partner, her dress also covered in blood. “That was fun for a change. I prefer killing these idiots over convincing them to return. It’s so much easier.”

“We give them a chance for a reason, Yusari,” Yohane sighed. “Some of these rogues might be former champions. In that case, we need their strength.”

“They don’t seem like champions to me. They fall like elfins.”

“You will cost us the entire war at this rate.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. We have the infamous Guilty Barrel on our side.”

“Your manner of flattery is all but endearing.”

“But it’s true, right?”

Leaving behind their bloody work, the fallen angels put away their wings and true identities. An eerie silence follows the hunt, a time for Yoshiko to ponder on the brief exchange earlier. “Do you honestly believe desertion deserves death?”

“Where did that come from?” You gives Yoshiko an awkward stare. “Of course it does. It just shows that they’re not faithful to the cause. Also, we can’t have them running freely where they can be picked up by the enemy. They _all_ deserve to die.”

“And suppose you’re branded a rogue yourself. What will you do?”

“I’m not worried about that. I’ve been a very good girl while you’ve been away.”

“Some optimism you have.”

“I doubt Lord Cain can simply turn on one who has earned the trust of the War Council.”

“The War Council?”

“Days without you have been really busy, Yocchan. Not that it’s any less busy now.”

This explains a great deal about the extent of freedom Yusari enjoys. The blessing of eight of the most powerful demons in existence, let alone one, is worth its weight in countless demonic lives. Only actions showing utmost devotion to the cause of discord—by and large the will to even betray all attachment—is worth such a trust. One can only ponder on the lengths Yusari has gone to be deemed worthy in the eyes of warlords, perhaps having to kill long-time comrades. But if Yoshiko knows any better, “friends” to Yusari are nothing more than conveniences.

“You plan on having the Council clear my name,” Yoshiko deduced, to which You nods in admission. No other explanation for the latter’s motivation than this exists. The word of the Council rivals the will of the demonic throne.

This Council also passed the renunciation of the then-Unholy Hollow. As such, Yoshiko’s skepticism is justified.

“They gave me their word, Yocchan. If we take down Riko-chan, you’ll be absolved.”

“So you became the Council’s lapdog just for that?”

“If it means being with you again…”

“That’s madness.”

You lunges with a kiss to the lips, to Yoshiko’s surprise. “That’s love, Yocchan.”

“You…”

“Once this is over, we can go home. Together.”

The promises of victory flash before her eyes. The fall of her powerful nemesis will reopen the gates of hell for her, no longer disavowed. The word of the Council will ensure her absolution and return to the ranks of the Underworld’s finest. The life of a warrior who sees mercy as a fatal weakness will be her own once more, sowing fear and awe among enemies and allies alike. Granted that some might still see her as a disgrace, the merciless Yohane cares for nothing less than angels dying by her hand.

The exposition gives Yoshiko closure regarding another matter. “You’re no clone, Yusari.”

**~O~**

CLONES OF THE LIVING would have made for inconveniences. For one, colleagues will be hard beset on discerning the original from the rest, which may give way to unrest if not infighting. For another, why clone when the original is still capable of serving the interests of discord? An insult to most demons is to have a clone take over the tasks, suggesting that the original is less competent.

For one who claims to be a clone of the Perverted Peltast, Yoshiko deduces, she exhibits too much familiarity with her partner. Her signature phrase “play with me” toward Yohane holds too little importance to be learned by a clone. The insatiable hunger for Yohane’s blood, an unquenchable fury against the ‘redhead bitch,’ and her hesitance to use the Whip of Mu are hints. Any clone can only be allowed enough attachment to achieve the goals of the dark collective. With the Yusari she has fought and bled alongside for centuries, it says nothing of cloning at all.

“Did you know about that this whole time?” asked a sheepish You.

“Like I said, don’t take me for an elfin,” Yoshiko replied.

“Looks like the hellcat’s finally out of the bag. As expected of the Guilty Barrel.”

“But why lie?”

Only silent hesitation from You. The matter is quietly set aside for now.

“Fine then,” Yoshiko said. “Let’s discuss how we’ll get this elfin demon to fight on our side. Lord Cain says she’s seeking refuge in this realm.”

“I heard a rumor that her sister’s apparently a former champion of harmony,” You said.

“That’s absurd. I’ve never heard of angels and demons being related by blood.”

“Who says sisters have to be related by blood?”

“Good point. Still, it leaves the problem of finding out their identities.”

“I hear ya. Not even the commander knows who they really are.”

Suddenly, the rapid echo of footsteps cut their conversation short. An oddity in a city block devoid of humans, the sound prompts the fallen angels to draw their arms against a potential threat. With Yoshiko hiding at one corner and You at the opposite, they let the footsteps draw closer. The element of surprise will strike down all that challenge them.

On the silent count of three, the trap is sprung. The receiving end of gun and spear reveals a trembling Ruby pleading for her life. “Eeeeek! Please don’t kill me!”

No longer worried about revealing her true self, Yoshiko holds Ruby’s life at gunpoint in anger. “Give me one good reason. ONE!”

“Please…help. My sister…my sister…”

“Your sister?”

“My sister…she was taken away by a group of men in a van. Please help.”

“And why, pray tell, should I help you?”

“I beg you, Yohane-senpai!”

No human, not even a familiar face like Ruby, has any business calling Yoshiko by her fallen angel name (even if she pretends to insist in her mortal form). Yoshiko and You’s eyes light up at a possibility worth the risk. They put away their weapons and hear her out.

“Okay, Ruby,” Yoshiko began. “Start talking.”


	24. Hostage to Fortune

_I always knew this day would come, the day the Order must take action. For countless centuries, our family has been at the tip of the spear in the defense of mankind against the divine and the demonic. My ancestors have battled incursion after incursion and succeeded, ensuring our survival. They make it a point to tell Heaven and Hell that humanity wants no part in their war._

_But I fear that humanity today is ill-prepared to deal with this larger incursion. Much of the wisdom in fighting angels and demons has been lost. This generation of unsung heroes is a hastily-organized group that has yet to see a pair of wings. The Order is a shadow of its former glory._

_If humanity is to survive, then I must make a gambit. I must convince the angels and demons who have fled to this world to lend us their strength. I must show them that there’s always a way aside from flat-out genocide. And for this, I need the Guilty Barrel and her companions._

\--From the memoirs of Mari Ohara

 

A decrepit warehouse by the harbor reeks of a menace drawing all sorts of energies. Led by the elfin demon Ruberi, the servants of discord are the first to arrive outside the premises. Under the cover of dusk, the darkness of a harbor long abandoned hides them from the token detail of guards armed with rifles. Face plates and helmets conceal the identities of the obstacles the demons must face.

The headcount of two dozen guards covering all means of entry into the warehouse concerns the fallen angels. This high degree of security shows the importance of the asset they hold for ransom. A guard missing from his post may as well alert the rest to an incursion.

The presence of the abduction van by a well-lit area confirms Ruberi’s claims. “There’s the van. Onee-chan must be inside.”

“Loud and proud, I guess,” said Yusari. “No way we’ll be able to weasel our way in quietly.”

“Who are these people? What do they want with onee-chan?”

“I’m guessing they want to cut her open and study angel anatomy.”

“That’s not funny!”

“Funny enough, we all bleed the same color. Demons, angels, even humans.”

Yohane concurs with her partner’s assessment. “Yusari is right. It would be reckless to sneak past these guards. If this is all the defenders, just two of us are more than a match.”

“You’re saying that there could be more of them?” Yusari asked in reply.

“Remember the Meadowlark? We thought their numbers were few, too.”

“Yeesh. Don’t remind me.”

Moments later, Yohane is proven right. More of the armed footmen rush out of the line of vehicles pulling up in front. She recalls the danger of the special bullet Mari carries, granted that the guards are her men. The firepower standing in their way might just overwhelm, if not kill them. “Just as I feared. We have no choice but to break through.”

Yusari winked in agreement. “Fine by me. The more to mutilate, the better.”

“You will mutilate _no one_ , Yusari.”

“Eh? Why not?”

“This realm is still neutral. A massacre will only give harmony a reason to invade.”

“What’s wrong with that? All the more I get to hunt down some white wings.”

“Think about it. Can we afford to fight on another front?”

Specifically, can the legion defend itself from an attack from Earth as much as it can defend Earth from an attack? Yohane speaks not for the welfare of the denizens but in terms of the expediency of waging war, a subject she has long studied in blood.

“I…guess. Not sure where you’re getting at, but my gut tells me to just shut up and nod.”

“Besides, our numbers now are more than enough to achieve our goals.”

“Huh?”

Yohane turns around, as if expecting the right person to appear. “Isn’t that right, Riri?”

From the shadows of rusting containers, the subtle glow of a heavenly aura emerges after an eternity of hiding. Beneath the elegance of a dress pure as her wings is the ferocity of a lion. The rapier she grips with gusto glistens with her fairness. None of these qualities captivates Yohane, scowling at the presence of the angel she has sworn to defeat. But she knows that she needs such prowess to break through.

“Yocchan,” said Ricosia, gripped by sadness.

“You think she came alone, Guilty Barrel?” another subtle aura emerges from hiding, one of the Dominion angel Dectera who answers her despised enemy’s scowl with her own. Her divine hammer longs to eradicate the darkness within reach. “If not for this situation, I will spare no second ending you.”

“Deka-san, please,” Ricosia urges restraint and faces the agents of discord. “Tell us what you want, Yocchan.”

“Simple. You will help us break through the humans’ defense.”

“And why should we?”

“Do angels not leave their kind to suffer?”

The scowl of the fallen angel helps get her point through obstinate minds. Clearly the angels have as much to gain from lending their enemies a helping hand as from refusing.

“Okay, Yocchan,” Ricosia nodded. “We’ll help you.”

“Ricosia, this is madness,” Dectera protested. “These cretins do not deserve our—”

“I don’t like it as much as you do. But we can’t turn our backs on an angel in distress.”

“Even if that were the case…”

The Lonely Sword formalizes the ceasefire. “A truce, it is.”

“That’s my Riri,” Yohane’s smirk adds insult to injury, to the Dominion’s ire.

**~O~**

THE TENUOUS COALITION mounts its offensive at the earnest, met by relentless steel rain. A round grazes Yohane’s wing, the sting confirming her suspicion, but fails to dissuade her from disarming the guard with a reply in kind. He is promptly put in his place by a flurry of fisticuffs, a less grim fate than a bullet to the head. More guards train their guns toward her but suffer the same, bloodless fate as their defeated colleague.

“Cripple them if you must, but refrain from killing them,” she reiterates to her allies in the middle of the brawl.

Disappointed by this restriction, Yusari nonetheless gets creative in taking down her share of trouble, knocking them out with the blunt end of her spear. She eventually finds a compromise by wounding the guards enough to dissuade them, the blood on her blade for her pleasure. On the rooftop, marksmen see their rifles sliced in half by Ricosia’s blade. Pure of heart, she reserves her wrath for those who refuse to stand down, leaving the rest alone. On the ground, the tremor around Dectera and her gavel disorients the guards nearby, but not without shaking the decrepit foundation.

Soon, a clear path inspires Ruberi to head for the entrance with all speed. Amidst the crossfire, her body emits a dark glow—an elfin ready to detonate at will—as she nears the entrance. On impact, a small explosion brings down the imposing door of belted steel and rivets, the elfin shaken but far from harm.

In the darkness of the warehouse, she calls for her sister. “Onee-chan?! Where are you?!”

The loud toggle of a switch is followed by a beam of light, most bizarre in a facility left to time. Within that light, Dia bears a stupefied stare beyond the decrepit confines. Ruberi hurries to her side, oblivious to the danger that lured her into the light. “Oh no. What did they do to you, onee-chan?”

“Just a little stun serum,” the voice of the mastermind echoes in the darkness, following the click of a gun primed to fire. “Not to worry. It’ll wear off eventually.”

“W-Who are you? Show yourself!”

“The one to save you all. For now, I suggest that you come quietly.”

“What do you want? We only wish to live in peace.”

“But you forget, little Ruberi. _Se vuoi la pace, prepara la guerra_.”

“What?”

The architect of mankind’s greatest gambit steps out of the darkness with a loaded threat. Behind her, more of the footmen bring all their firepower to bear.

“If you want peace, prepare for war,” said a self-righteous Mari Ohara, unafraid of the rest of the key players coming for her.

“Ruberi-chan!” Ricosia turns her anger against Mari. “You let her go, you hear me?!”

“Glad you all made it to our little _convegno_. I’m Mari Ohara, your host for tonight.”

“Tell me what you plan to do with Adamia-san.”

“Don’t worry. Now that you’re all here, she has served her purpose,” Mari then turns to one of her men. “Release her.” The latter unties the stupefied Dia from captivity.

Amidst cynical gazes, the youngest leader of the Order of the Sixth Day orders her men to see to their wounded. She and her brethren walk among humanity, ever on guard for the war of light and darkness reaching them. The roots of their knowledge are found in the last existing chronicles of heroes who once matched archangels and demon princes to a blade. Their sacrifice has made Earth one of few realms with the might to resist both light and darkness. It has earned the right to exist as it sees fit.

“Your handlers are playing you for fools,” Mari said. “Soon, they’ll use you all as pretexts to wage war here. And when they’re done, you’ll be spat out like pits.”

The sarcasm is strong with Yusari. “Oh wow, I’m _soooooo_ scared.”

“You should be. They’re putting the final touches in their plans as we speak.”

“I’m _really_ scared. Aren’t _you_ , Yocchan?”

“I wish this is all just joke, but it’s not.”

The unfazed Yohane indeed sees such claims with some merit. As a fallen angel eschewed by all of demon-kind, the fruit of treachery falls not far from the tree. “Make no mistake that this will sway us.”

“Of course it won’t, silly,” Mari gives a shrewd smile.

“What?”

“It’s just a heads-up. What you do with it is up to you.”

“Then why go through all this trouble just to lure us here?”

“Also a heads-up. That humanity won’t take this sitting down. We WILL fight.”

“Strong words for an emissary of weaklings.”

“The strong should fear the weak, Yohane-chan.”

Yohane feels the weight of Mari’s words, yet not enough to sway her.  

Her nefarious way of showing her loyalty manifests in a kick to Ruberi’s gut, later to every part of her body. The helpless elfin yelps before the heel that crushes her bones and spirit, her pleas for mercy heard but discarded like the trash she is. Tears and blood mix as they trickle down through the abuse, a sight that moves the helpless Dia to tears despite her stupor.

The callousness stops short of killing the elfin, instead lifting her by the hair like some prize. “Then _fear_ her!” Yohane called to all the witnesses. “Fear her! FEAR HER!”

Emotions run high and fill the air above the standoff. Ricosia is left with no words to express her shock, even looking away from the work of brutality. An irate Dectera makes a mad dash for her hated enemy, only for Yusari and her barrier of crossed spears to thwart her. The latter’s intimate gasps resonate with the cruelty she longs to see in her partner. “Ah! Don’t make me feel too good in the middle of a battle, Yocchan!” she pulls down her skirt in excitement.

Around them, a few of Mari’s men draw their guns in response. “No! Stand down!” Mari calls out, albeit she lacks the stomach to witness such cruelty.

“Yocchan, stop! Please stop!” yelled Ricosia in tears.

The fallen angel’s reply comes to all.

> “Weak. You are all weak. You let your weak hearts take reign in a battle for survival. You cower behind false strength to hide your failings. And yet, you _dare_ ask to lend you our strength in this crucial hour. Your race is undeserving of the right to life.”

“Riri.”

“Yocchan…”

“If you still find in your heart to save your kin, and this pathetic realm, then duel me.”

“Yocchan, please don’t—”

“You have before midnight to come to the place of our first encounter _alone_.”

No point in convincing Yohane to stop this madness. “If I win, you have to let them go.”

“Granted. But if I win, you must abandon the cause of harmony and embrace the darkness.”

The fallen angels take to the skies, the blood sisters in tow as leverage. Falling to her knees, Ricosia squalls at the loss of all hope.


	25. Sins of a Tragic Bond

Infatuation fills the air of a darkening night, echoing from the bedroom of a home left to time. Gasps of a love most cherished pause with the caress of lips and stroke of hands across moist flesh. Fabric rustles at the twist and turn of coitus of the ruthless and perverted, one over the other. One forces her hand into the hymen, her savagery in the battlefield reaching as far as the cushions. The other cries as joy overwhelms all of her body in varying degrees, more as the hand is shoved deeper. One wears a glare that demands the coitus to continue. The other, all but sapped of her strength, widens her hymen for another round.

The night of pleasure goes on at the utterance of four magic words: “Play with me, Yocchan.”

A confident, if not premature, celebration for Yohane’s eventual pardon echoes amidst the void of the locale. The pain and fatigue straining Yusari’s body only fuels her craving, the shortness of breath a small price to pay. The bliss invigorating her through the ordeal stems from the leverage in the fallen angels’ favor. Their angelic nemesis, unable to turn away from a fellow angel in distress, must heed the challenge of the Guilty Barrel. A blood sport of gun and sword will ensue. If not, the servants of discord will grow bolder with the will to fight savages that leave their own to bleed.

Yohane pulls her hand out, partaking in a layer of Yusari’s leaking virginity. “Must we do this every time you cannot bring your perversions under control?”

“It ain’t easy being a pervert,” gasped Yusari. “You can cut back on the things that turn me on, which I doubt you will.”

“No point in stopping you, then.”

“Play with me as much as you like. You deserve it.”

“Do you not grow weary?”

“If it’s you? Never.”

Grasping their hands tight, the fallen angels share a brief kiss.

“I cannot imagine life without a pervert as my partner,” whispered Yohane.

“I can’t imagine life without a coldblooded killer by my side,” replied Yusari in kind.

“Is that the truth?”

“I’ve missed you for too long, Yocchan. And now, I’m happy.”

“I suggest you hold your elation until our task is complete.”

“After tonight, it will be. Trust me.”

“Yusari…”

“After tonight, we can go home. To our old lives,” Yusari gently strokes the tranquil look in Yohane, the first in centuries. It suits her better, even for a heartless harbinger. “You seem a lot calmer now, Yocchan. I like it that way.”

“Yusari?”

“Yeah?”

“Please deal with the pests trying to flee.”

“Anything for you, Yocchan.”

Without missing a beat on her private time, Yusari wills for a dark rift to open and a spear to fly out. It bursts through the door with ease and falls short of impaling a petrified Ruby, attempting to escape with a drugged Dia. In fear, she drops her sister and cries like the weakling she is. Adding to her fear is a livid Yusari shoving Ruby’s head against the wall with her bare foot. The elfin’s shriek hardly urges mercy from her torturer.

“You have some nerve disturbing the time of my life with Yocchan,” Yusari’s sadism speaks on her behalf. “If not for the need to lure Riko-chan here, I would’ve ended your pointless lives here and now. So try to be good girls until we take her down, okay?”

Forced to watch her sister’s suffering at gunpoint, Dia speaks out amidst the serum’s effects. “No…Ruby. Please…don’t hurt her.”

The grinding foot stops but remains on its victim. “Oh? You’re finally awake.”

“Do what…you want with me. But don’t…hurt…Ruby.”

“You might as well tell me to stop breathing. I’m too busy enjoying this.”

“I beg of you…”

“Look at that. The famed wielder of Talion’s Aegis begs for mercy,” Yusari resumes grinding her foot against Ruby, her thirst for the suffering of others without end. Her loathing for a powerful angel begging for mercy adds to her hatred. “Pathetic. Just pathetic.”

So much so that Yohane has to remind her of their motive. “Restrain yourself, Yusari. She’s no good to us dead.”

The torture promptly stops…for now. “I guess you’re right. It was fun while it lasted, though.”

“Play with them as you please _after_ our task is done. For now, be a good girl and wait.”

Yusari turns to the captives. “You heard Yocchan! Back to the slammer!”

The foiled attempt to escape lands the sisters back to their cell: the darkness of a dust-filled storage room. A dazed Ruby is thrown first like a discarded glove, hitting the wall. She collapses nearly lifeless on top of a layer of grime. Dia is hurled next against a stack of boxes that come down and spill its contents: junk too useless to help them attempt another escape.

With a glare even Death envies, Yusari leaves the sisters with a chilling reminder. “If you try to disturb us again, I’ll make you both regret ever being born.”

Then, the door slams shut.

**~O~**

IN CLOSED SPACE, somber emotions come together as a cocktail of tears. Amidst her sobs, Ruby breaks down before the callousness of reality, feeble in spirit as in strength. She cries before her half-dead sister, not expecting any comfort for one undeserving of such.

“Do you…see it now…Ruby?” Dia fights the serum to get her message across. Ruby’s tears run the gauntlet of restrained tirades against her decision to help others. In effect, Ruby has put them back into the conflict, the reason for their furtive exodus to Earth. Selflessness, Dia continues, has undone all they have fought and bled for. And they pay the price as captives in an elaborate entrapment that will see more blood on the ground.

“I’m sorry, onee-chan,” Ruby’s sobbing sees no end. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened.” Her sister’s advice, which she turned a deaf ear, returns to haunt her. _Those who you say desire peace? They will wait for the right time to pursue their agenda._ _If that happens, even this peaceful realm will be engulfed in the very conflict we’re fleeing from._

“What do you…intend to do now?”

“I…I don’t know.” Then, more of the past troubles her. _This is what you wanted. Right, Ruby?_

“This…would only work for the both of us.  Just us.”

“Please forgive me. I didn’t mean for all this.”

“It’s too late for regret. Only action will save us.”

The serum finally yields to the resolute Dia, standing up without any trouble. Ruby looks on, curious as she cowers before her sister’s tense look.

“What are you planning, onee-chan?”

“The fallen angels are only interested in me. I’ll negotiate for your release.”

“No! You can’t do that!”

“One of us HAS to survive, Ruby. This won’t end any other way.”

“Onee-chan, don’t do this! Without you, it’ll all be for nothing.”

“It won’t. After all, you only used me to be able to flee the war.”

A proverbial knife strikes the elfin in the heart. “What…what are you…?”

“The serum cleared my mind, Ruby. I _know_ what you did to me.”

No look of innocence will save Ruby, who is no different from “those who desire peace.” Indeed, the idea of an angel and demon as sisters by blood is a farce, one created by manipulation of a mind unaware. Only an elfin whose eyes have opened to the horror of her existence can think of such a plan to aid in her escape. Only a weakling elfin, sentient or no, can come up with a plan to beguile a powerful angel—and her growing doubt in the war—to her cause. Only by pretending to be sisters in a foreign world can they live in peace, losing their powers as time passes. And only the two of them can benefit from the elfin’s blueprint.

“Psyamnesis, was it?” Dia said. “You sowed lies into my mind, all for your benefit.”

“I-I did,” Ruby admitted. “But it was for us. I did it for us, onee—”

Dia turns her back on Ruby and heads for the door. “You can stop pretending to be my little sister. It won’t do us any good. It never did.”

“But I’m not…well, I…”

“You used a power forbidden by _both_ Heaven and Hell.”

“I…I had to. I had no choice.”

“No choice? Is simply telling me what you want not a choice?”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Perhaps. But between a demon and a demon who _lies_ …”

“But still…you’re an angel…”

“I’m an angel with demonic powers! I’m already a living contradiction!”

And it echoes the same to the elfin, a demon with angelic powers. The nature of her existence adds itself to her piling list of reasons to cry a river. Neither knows how such a contradiction came to be, and neither has the will to find out.     

“Onee-chan,” a desperate Ruby crawls to grab Dia’s foot, only to be kicked away.

“This is goodbye, Ruby. I hope that we never meet again.”

“Onee-chan, no…”

The inward swing of the door interrupts their somber parting. “It’s time, ladies,” said a less livid Yusari, all dressed up for battle. Behind her, Yohane keeps a steely gaze at the darkness outside. “Front row seats for the fight of the millennium. Careful, it’s gonna be messy.”

“The elfin doesn’t have to be involved,” declared Dia. “Let her go and take me instead.”

“Huh? Ruby-chan’s a key player in all this.”

“What? But the Lonely Sword—”

“…is after you, yes. But we have use for the elfin.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What do elfins do best?”

A stupefied Dia realizes this skirmish can only end one way or another. “You don’t mean…”

“We’re sending her off with a bang.” Yusari makes her most dastardly smirk of her life.


	26. Solitude

_Three hundred years ago (in angel years), Yocchan and I fought to the death above this very realm. As her bullets clashed with my blade, she asked me where my allegiance lay. As an ardent servant of harmony, the answer can’t be any more obvious._

_After the battle, however, I never made any attempt to return to the heavens. I settled in this world as a mortal, hoping to find a reason to take to the skies as an angel again. When Yocchan came to this world, I gave up finding such a reason. I realized that she, too, was lonely like me. The powerful like she and I only exist to push the front forward. Anything beyond that is irrelevant._

_I thought I could help her as the Lonely Sword. But it only aggravated the problem. The loneliness in me grew after knowing that she had given up all her memories of us together. And now, I’m at a loss whether or not to confront her._

_Someone please take this pain away from me. I can’t take it anymore._

\--Excerpt from the last entry in Riko’s diary

 

“What will you do?” Kanan enters the porch with hot beverage for two. One stays with her hand as the other is served to a stolid Riko who delays drinking a sip. Her question is met with silence, devoid of all emotion, her hospitality yet to be accepted. Even so, Kanan neither reiterates with a louder tone nor berates her for apathy. But a reminder of the price of tea makes her guest drink. “Tea is expensive, you know. Drink up.”

Around them, the vestiges of peace play to the tune of the waves brushing against the docks. A concerto of chimes and rustling flora complete the faint click of time. Peace, however, is an illusion under a haunting reminder of the bloody fate that awaits the blood sisters. _You have before midnight to come to the place of our first encounter alone._ The callous tone of the Guilty Barrel calls for Riko to decide with haste, a course of action her fellow angel quietly urges behind her drink. Doubt stops her from raising her blade against Yohane and the foolish hope of friendship bleeding her grasp.

The time for talk has long ended. Fate demands its thirst for blood be satisfied.

“Are you just gonna sit there?” Kanan cringes.

The chimes sound on her behalf, a pointless act.

“Yohane is never your friend to begin with. She might’ve been using you all along.”

The rustle of leaves in the breeze echoes her silence, also pointless.

“Harmony needs you more than ever. _I_ need you.”

Waves continue to wash ashore. No calm etude is able to force words out of Riko’s acedia shell, to Kanan’s frustration. Consequences of limited options run wild in her troubled mind. _Why is she so fascinated with that fallen angel? My entire family died by her hand…and they weren’t even warriors. With that much blood on her hands, salvation for the Guilty Barrel is impossible, if not heresy._

At long last, the shell opens a little. “Kanan-san…do you recall the big battle here?”

“Of course,” Kanan said. “We fought and bled together here.”

“I didn’t go back because I was looking for something here.”

“What was it?”

“A reason to go back.”

“A reason?”

“Am I just gonna be a tool, Kanan-san? Never to enjoy a life I can call my own?”

The lack of a reply speaks not of a need to hide the truth but a need to know. The query may as well be a riddle to angels, scratching their heads as to what it means to be a ‘tool.’ Granted not once have the most loyal of wings questioned their place in the world. “Sorry, Riko. I have no idea what you mean.”

“Guess I’m not asking the right person,” sighed Riko.

“Aren’t you happy? I know a million angels who’d die for prestige like yours.”

“It’s not that I hate it. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Never mind.”

Kanan finishes her drink in the presence of the sea. “I’ll ask again. What will you do now?” Riko grips her half-empty mug, not a word in response. Hesitation still grips her with a fist of stone. “Do you even see what you’re becoming, Riko?”

“Maybe I’m not worthy of the title,” but deep down, her title speaks true about the source of her might: loneliness. It fuels her blade and every swing of it but at the expense of facing odds alone. It fells the fearsome but not without drawing the daring to challenge her prowess. It cements her as a hero in a colleague’s eyes but also denies her of social bonds. It tells a great deal about her life in the heavens, never to enjoy friendship lest risk her power failing.

“It hurts, Kanan-san. It _really_ hurts,” Riko wrenches her heart hard beset by loneliness. Tears come down, not that the oblivious Kanan can ease her pain.

She is indeed just a “tool.”

**~O~**

KANAN’S WORDS do little to sway Riko, who instead flies away from the weight of responsibility. The ultimatum reaches its last hour, yet the last hope for the sisters takes no decisive action. In the grand scheme of things, the loss of two “enlightened” beings is acceptable, as endless numbers mean they can be replaced with more loyal ones. The cruelty carrying this premise is lost to the pragmatic like Kanan, who can only watch the fearsome Lonely Sword lose her way.

Across the rumble of the evening sky, white wings take their host where her lack of direction desires. The rush of wind to her teary eyes leaves a trail that disappears in the darkness, sobs muffled by the looming storm. The wandering of a soft glow in the sky goes unnoticed, namely while passing over the sea of lights. “Please…give me something,” she begs the invisible hand of fate to grant her another chance to make things right.

It responds not before long, leading her to the glow of an old-fashioned inn from a distance. Many a ways away, she lands and hides her wings. Past the afterglow of a lantern swaying with the wind, she recognizes the citrus cowlick atop its host.

“Chika-chan,” Riko smiled softly.

Chika turns around to see, only to glare and look away. “What brings you here, Riko-chan?” her tone hints at resentment, far from a friendly welcome.

“Well, I…I just happened to pass by and—”

“Cool. Then you can go.”

The unease in Riko spikes. “Chika-chan?”

“Like I said, you can go.”

“Chika-chan, what’s wrong?”

Words give way to a cold shoulder as Chika walks back to the inn, never to look back once. Before stepping foot into the foyer, Riko raced for her friend’s hand. It stops the latter but not for long, as she whips her arm to break free.

“Don’t touch me!” yells Chika in indignation.

Riko’s heart shatters, its fragments falling into the abyss. “Chika-chan…why…”

“All this time…Riko-chan, all this time…I thought you were my friend.”

“I still am. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Then explain…explain everything You-chan told me.”

“You-chan?”

“Why did you try to take Yoshiko-chan away from her?”

“Tried?”

Every phrase that reveals You’s story hardly brings closure to Riko. Nevertheless, it becomes clear that the story is poison to Chika, driving her mad with hunger for the truth. Soon, the poison is taking its toll on reason, fantasy crossing the line into reality.

After a deep breath, Riko says her piece. “Chika-chan, whatever You-chan told you isn’t true. I only want to help Yocchan be a good friend, not keep her to myself.”

“That’s a lie,” retorted Chika. “You-chan was hurting…and it’s your fault!”

“When have I ever denied any of you a chance to spend time with Yocchan?”

“That’s…that’s…”

“Think, Chika-chan! Think back on the times we practiced together.”

Amidst Chika’s wrenching pain, the memories of singing and dancing to their hearts’ content play. The sound of joy reverberates among the chronicles of the bonds they shared, be it from a bad fall due to a misstep or making merry over juice. Is it not Riko’s reason for inviting Yoshiko to the club out of friendship? Even Riko cannot help but weep for all that has been undone by Yoshiko’s rage.

“I wouldn’t have suggested her to join the club if I only wanted her for myself,” Riko stands firm in the face of clear censure. The pain of loneliness, in a sardonic twist, fuels her resolve. “I showed her to the club because you girls are the only ones who can teach her.”

But the poison has seeped in too deep, urging Chika to look at Riko in disgust. “No…”

“Chika-chan, please listen!”

“You have no idea what You-chan has gone through for Yoshiko-chan.” One by one, the long list of You’s sufferings is unveiled in tears, to Riko’s distress.

“Did she…tell you all that?” a stunned Riko nearly buckles at the disturbing thought.

“She told me _everything._ What she did. What _you_ did.”

“That’s not—”

Her temper reaching its peak, Chika quickly picks up a stone and lets it fly. It finds its mark on Riko, who flinches as soon as it hits her temple. With a weak throw, the stone only deals as much damage as a swollen lump. But it destroys all that is good still inside, driving her to tears once more. To her disbelief, the cheery mortal she has devoted to helping with her dream is shunning her.

“Riko-chan, get out of our lives. And never come back.”


	27. Damn Fool

Once upon a time, a fallen angel famed for her cutthroat ways is sent to Earth to repent in blood of traitors. In the company of her cursed firearms, she exacts a bloody toll on all who dare forsake the cause of discord. Fallen angels, lycans, incubi and succubi, all that she meets in savage battle, no matter the odds, falls by a hail of fire and steel. But one fateful night, her line of fate crosses with that of a female mortal who trembles before her. Doctrine dictates that the mortal be killed for she has “seen what mortal eyes must not see,” but the fallen angel shows mercy—antithetic to her temperament. Thus gives birth to a bond most blessed and cursed, soon to be joined by others who rejoice or resent it. For a time, the fallen angel’s coldness ebbs at the warmth of smiles and laughter from “friends.” But the moment the mortal revealed her white wings, all that the fallen angel has adored are undone. With her sister-in-arms, she returns to malice’s embrace, vowing to claim the head of her suffering for good and regaining her true place.

With the rumbling overcast creeping toward the city, this guilty tale stands on the verge of coming full circle. Light and darkness cross paths at a section of the isolated block—the venue of Yoshiko and Riko’s fateful encounter. The span of a house’s fence dividing them, their tense gazes reminds all eyes of a duel to the death about to unfold. They barely flinch before the weak twister of dust and dirt. Stray creatures that venture too close to the imminent mêlée scatter in fear.

On this spot, they met as strangers. Now, they meet as foes.

“It’s not too late to stop this madness, Yocchan,” uttered Riko.

Yoshiko’s glare rivals that of a cobra primed to pounce. “Never address me by that fool of a name again. I am Yohane the Guilty Barrel, Servant of the Black Hand.”

“Yes…yes, you are.”

“And you? Have you finally found a reason to face me?”

“I have.”

“Then hold nothing back.”

By Yoshiko’s will, bare flesh burn in places bound by the chains, even in spots that arouse her. Dark power coursing through her body brings forth more pleasure. Vanishing chains and ebbing flames dress her in a sultry garb as dark as her soul. Black wings add the final touches to the Guilty Barrel’s transformation.

Calm pervades within Riko, as if resigned to the bloodbath to ensue. Perhaps she finally sees that the time for talk is over. And with that in mind, Riko bathes in the light and the gratifying freedom it brings. In place of hellish chains, soft laces wrap her flesh as a means of dressing up. Chaste as her ivory wings, her dress emits a soft glow, a drawback in a battle in the dark but not one Yohane must take too lightly.

“Yocchan,” uttered Ricosia.

“Yohane,” the fallen angel replies in a chilling tone.

“I…I just want to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For making you make a painful decision.”

“Only your downfall matters to me now.”

“I can see that. Still…I’m sorry, Yocchan. Now, let’s begin.”

The standoff persists amidst the will to fight, not of doubt but a wait for the first move. Neither is willing to give up the minuscule benefit of probing each other’s defenses.

Then, rain.

The Hellstorms erupt in anger, bullet after bullet carrying the will of their cruel wielder. They fail to make it past quick parries of the sacred blade, instead pelting concrete and glass. Under relentless fire, Ricosia closes within reach of her sword. Yet, not one in a flurry of slashes wounds the swift Yohane, who opens fire at point blank. Not a round hits the more agile champion of harmony.

Victory in this pivotal battle will speak for all: the fate of the blood sisters, of this backwater realm, and of a forbidden bond. The battle from three centuries past comes nowhere close to the ferocity taking place now. _If I can just win this,_ Ricosia’s mind races amidst the chaos. _I can make Yocchan listen to reason._

Meanwhile, Yohane’s mind is tuned to a different wave. _Just one more fight…and we can go home. Yusari and I can be together again._

From a distance, the Dominion races to the Lonely Sword’s aid. A wave of dark spears pelts her from a distance, stopping her from interfering with the skirmish. She can fly no further with Yusari in the way, craving for blood.

“Itching for a dance? I’ll be your partner,” said Yusari.

“Out of my way,” the brash Dectera attempts a charge but is thwarted by the rain of spears.

“Can’t let you do that. Yocchan’s been waiting a _long_ time for this.”

“I have no time to be fighting the likes of you.”

“Ouch. You’ll regret that.”

“Then make me, cretin!”

“You’ll regret that, too!”

**~O~**

THE RAGE OF THE STORM keeps pace with the melee, now entering its first hour. A deluge will not stop the dance of fire and steel, as well as the rampant ruin it inflicts. Light and darkness hide their fatigue under the deluge, the promises of victory driving their spirit. Wound after wound, bruise after bruise, the bloodlust has them battle as would berserkers of frigid lore.

But the power of the Lonely Sword spans with impunity. Amidst fire and fury, the tumult of blades soon routs the hail and lands a series of critical blows. The ground is dyed red with the blood of the Guilty Barrel, gushing from slashes all over her body. Her desperate attempts to turn the tide are utterly crushed by an enemy whose desire for victory rivals hers. With the fallen angel’s wounds, the power of the Hellstorms wanes, unable to stem the enemy assault.

In the end, fire and fury fall silent along with Yohane, resting in a pool of her blood. She feels the tip of the sword poised to slit her throat. At the mercy of an adversary who shows mercy, however, she is delayed of such a fate. “Be done with it,” she tells a hesitant Ricosia and waits for the inevitable.

It will never come. “Enough! I’m fighting to knock some sense into you, not to kill you.”

“You upset me, Riri.”

“I don’t care! You’re better than this, Yocchan. You were doing so well.”

“Hesitation will end you. Be done with me while you still have a chance.”

“No! I want you and me to _talk…_ like real friends.” The angel’s intention is lost in the blade still poised to taste blood, to her enemy’s amusement.

“Hypocrite.”

“Yocchan!”

“It is done. Kill me or forfeit.”

Finally, Ricosia sheathes her blade. “No. We will _talk_.”

Yohane rejects the dialogue with a snap of her fingers. Behind the plain gesture, a trap is sprung as a shadow leaps out and hugs Ricosia from behind. Unable to break free of the embrace, Ricosia turns pale upon witnessing the dark glow of a demon resigned to give her life in a blaze of ruin. It can only mean one thing.

“Ruberi-chan?!”

“I’m sorry,” a teary-eyed Ruberi takes her victim to the skies.

A fleeting flash later, the power of a thousand suns is unleashed.

Fear and awe gaze upon the sphere of fire, the signal for the veil of war to be lifted. It burns for a brief time, enough to let the denizens know that the war has finally come to their soil. Soon, all of Heaven and Hell will march to ravage the realm in a torrent of blood and ruin. And humanity will be all but powerless to stop a conflict of such magnitude.

The sphere vanishes, the lifeless Ricosia and Ruberi slamming the ground in a geyser of concrete. The elfin is left for dead, half of her flesh charred and wings mangled, as any other. The ruthless Yohane cares only for the Lonely Sword, whose body and soul are as frayed as her dress and wings. She stares down the work of a cruel bargain: the elfin’s sacrifice for the release of her sister. The sudden surge of fear down her spine is a mere nuisance, easily negated by the savor of victory.

A fatigued Yusari reunites with her partner. Blood trickles out of burns in her flesh seared by a vicious battle with the Dominion. She barely keeps her balance as she lands, but like Yohane she savors a victory of her own. “We did it, Yocchan,” she stares down the dying angel. “We showed that redhead bitch.”

“What of the Dominion?” Yohane asked.

“Skewered in sixteen places. She ain’t flying anytime soon.”

“Good. We can finally go home.”

“Yeah.”

Under Yusari’s loving embrace, Yohane stares at the vanquished in silence. A sense of triumph normally follows a hard fight, but the void in her soul has yet to be filled. The angel she vowed to defeat lay before her a dying corpse, yet the satisfaction is bittersweet. _Ricosia has fallen. But…why am I not delighted?_

It may just be fatigue, which she shrugs off. “We will take her to her new home right away.”

“That won’t be necessary,” replied a raspy voice out of nowhere.

**~O~**

“WE BRING WORD from the War Council. The drawbacks of capturing Ricosia the Lonely Sword far outweigh the benefits. She is never to be given a chance at neither Heaven nor Hell.” The fellow fallen angel imposes the will of the Underworld with a show of force in his wake: a vanguard of fallen angels, hellhounds, incubi and succubi, and lycans whose loyalty has never been questioned. This token force lacks the numbers to bring the realm in their grasp, but its task merely involves the spread of the Council’s word through terror. “Yohane the Guilty Barrel, you are hereby granted the task of executing her, with us as witnesses.”

“That’s a shame,” Yusari sighed. “Then again, I prefer Riko-chan deader than dead.”

“Then this is your chance,” the emissary from the Underworld replied. “Be done with it and claim your just reward.”

Yohane adds her frustration of a last-minute change in plans to her pent-up wrath. One last pull of the trigger and her suffering will finally end. The execution is to be simple, quick, and painless, to be delivered down the Hellstorm’s barrel. Amidst the growls of lycans and the glare of the witnesses, her finger inches to firing the killing round.

Then, her trigger finger loosens. The execution is delayed, to the emissary’s annoyance.

“Why do you tarry?” he shouted.

“Tell me,” Yohane asked. “Did you come here just to declare the Council’s word?”

“Of course. Now stop wasting time and execute the angel.”

“A lone emissary is enough. Why bring a vanguard?”

“…”

“Unless that despicable smug of yours hides your true purpose.”

The emissary scoffs. The truth is revealed.

“Perceptive as ever, Yohane,” he waves his hand, the signal for the vanguard to surround the fallen angels with its might. A two-tiered wall of dark minions chomps at the bit for glory to fell the mighty Guilty Barrel and the Lonely Sword. “Mari spoke the truth,” Yohane frowns at the perfidy but shows no surprise.

“Yocchan, what’s going on?” asked Yusari in a panic.

“There is no task of retrieving an angel. There never _was_.”

Among an army without number, a servant of darkness as powerful as Ricosia—if not more—can be created in no time. Among an army without number, an enemy as powerful can simply drown in wave after wave of fodder. As long as the Underworld has a pit of darkness to call upon, never can there be a need to corrupt an angel against her will. The “cowards,” as the scornful Yohane puts it, never had any intention of allowing her back into the fold and reclaiming the life she had lost. The discord of the future has no room for the likes of her.

As for the reason for hunting down the angel, Mari’s words to Yohane one rainy night rings true. “They had us hunt down the Lonely Sword so they don’t have to.”

“This is a joke, right? It’s…it has to be,” Yusari shudders at the sight of treachery by her fellow demons.

“This would not end any other way than all of us _dead_.”        

“Please tell me this is just a prank.”

“You never jest about death, Yusari.”

“But…but the Council…they…”

“Gave you their word? Their _false_ word?”

“No…this can’t…”

“THIS is how it feels, you damn fool!”

With this revelation, no longer do the chains of guilt bind Yohane. No longer does her wrath have to be directed at the angel, instead training them toward her true enemies. _I cannot ask for your forgiveness, Riri…after all I have done. But I promise…they shall not lay a finger on you._

The emissary soon issues the true will of the Council: “Kill them all!”

The circle of death closes in on the forsaken beings. Rabid lycans hunger for their flesh, the incubi and succubi thirst for their blood, and the fallen angels seek glory. The heads of three mighty warriors, all to be claimed by savage jaws and ruthless blades, are prizes worth their weight in gold. Only a determined Yohane stands in the way of a lycan’s attempt at drawing first blood. But another swoops in and thwarts the attempt with the blunt echo of a shield.

Imagine Yohane’s shock as she gazes upon a pair of white wings and the radiant glow of an angel never before made manifest. Her silver armor glistens with the glow, more so the tortoise shell stained with the blood of the thwarted lycan. The rest of the vanguard recoils before the legendary shield that hinders them.

Not once to turn her gaze from the fight, the angel once called Adamia speaks to Yohane. “I will only say this once, Guilty Barrel. Take everyone and _run_.”

“What are you—?”

Adding to the chaos are the bellows of triumphant horns from the skies. Piercing the darkness, the vanguard of harmony enters the fray with total disregard for the situation. The variety of white wings matches the spawns of darkness to a blade, the standoff devolving into a bloodbath—the first in a myriad.

“Yusari!” Yohane shakes her stunned partner back to reality.

“Yocchan?”

“If you still believe in redemption, take the elfin and follow me.”

Tears start to well up in her eyes. “Yocchan, I…I…”

“Do you want the old days back or not?!”

Under the cover of the bedlam, the forsaken drag their fallen and make haste to safety. Their kinsmen, engrossed by the genocide all around them, pay the group as much heed as insects beneath their heel. As they flee with all speed, a stark realization sets in: this is no longer their war. They stand alone as a third party facing giants in a war without end. As the embers of war reach Earth, they must decide on a new path.

And as a van cuts off their retreat, it becomes clear that they must seek and accept help.

“Get in, quickly!” Mari opens the door from the inside. Yohane and company waste no time accepting the mortal’s offer, priority on securing their dying friends. The van dashes for sanctuary as soon as everyone has come aboard.

“Where to, milady?” asked the driver.

“To Awashima for now,” Mari looks out the window, at the sparks of battle ready to spread like wildfire. “Then…God knows.”

The silence inside the van is shattered with the sound of a scornful hand hitting a face. Not a soul turns to inquire, let alone see. On the receiving end, Yusari spirals deeper into misery, facing the fire and tears in Yohane’s eyes, and the caveat from all that has happened in their story.

“This is how it feels, you damned fool.”

 

**ACT II ~finis~**


	28. Believe

_Think about it, Yohane. Why would your overlords go through the trouble of seizing a mighty angel when they have dozens of warriors who are just as strong? Your mission to capture Ricosia—or any high-level angel—was never justified. It’s all a ploy to get rid of a thorn in someone’s side._

_Granted you were once an angel, the difference is that you chose to be a fallen angel. You and Yusari did. The only fate that awaits captured angels and demons is death. No more, no less._

_You’re thinking right now that I’m lying. And I don’t blame you. Mortals like us have little to no say in the cosmic scheme of things. But now that I’ve said my piece, what will you believe in?_

\--Excerpt from Mari Ohara’s dialogue with Yohane (Chapter 16, unwritten)

 

The veil of mystery is all but lifted, the truth it conceals most bitter. Through the window showing the night filled with the stench of war, Yoshiko fixes her distant gaze. The gravity of recent events is slow to sink in but in no way hurts her spirit. The Underworld she has sworn to serve without fail for countless eternities has cast her aside once and for all. Riko, who she both hated and loved, lay lifeless on bed, not once to open her eyes to the new reality. You, who has laid down her life for her sister-in-arms, lays in the next room in shock over the betrayal. And now, all of Earth is at the mercy of the endless war of light and darkness, their grand armies poised to turn it into another savage battlefield.

 _All I ever wanted…was my old life back_. An idle thought arises, fueled by neither hatred nor love. Alas, her life as a warrior of discord—sung by allies and feared by foes—is gone. In the eyes of her fellow demons, she now stands as much of an enemy as angels, who see her no different. As she spends the night pondering, Mari’s words from one fateful night haunt her some more.

“What will you believe in?”

What is left to believe in? Yoshiko believed in Riko’s good faith to show her a better way. When the latter unveiled her wings, Yoshiko believed in no less than the utter defeat of the Lonely Sword. Upon reaffirming her intent of hunting down Ricosia, she believed in severing attachments, with lethal force if necessary as in the case of Hanamaru. After playing her trump card to finally triumph over the hated angel, Yoshiko believed in redemption being within reach.

The moment the Underworld broke its word, she believed…in nothing.

 _I had plenty of choices._ Yoshiko’s mind delves deeper in thought. The evening peace aids in her self-reflection. _I could have stood my ground and fought to the death. I could have escaped in the chaos, to another world. Either way, it never would have mattered._

A brief silence, then she carries on about her contradictions. _Then…why did I save Riri? Why did I save everyone?_

If she truly believed in nothing, why make such a choice? Out of impulse? In her confusion? Part of a bargain with Mari?

The darkness outside cannot give her an answer. Yoshiko then walks up to the sleeping Riko in hopes of finding a clue. In silent awe, she marvels at the demure sight of a maiden she once hated, loved, hated again, and loved again. Such innocence places the fallen angel’s heart and mind at ease, although part of her insists on delivering a fatal blow. The lethal option might not matter, as Riko has yet to show any sign of life. Some scars still remain.

“Riri,” Yoshiko calls, not surprisingly to no avail. She continues, anyway.

 

> “I don’t expect you to forgive me, after all that I’ve done. Just like you, I’m lonely. Save for Yusari, I’ve never had anyone treat me as more than a hero. You and I, our people see us as mere tools to claim victory for them. It didn’t matter to me at first, and surely didn’t matter to you, as well. Now…we no longer matter to them.
> 
> But you…you showed me another way. You proved that it was possible for someone like me to find my happiness. Even after all the hostility, you never held any contempt. You were crazy enough to hold my gun to your chest, for my sake. When you defeated me, you refused to kill me and insisted on talk.”

Tears soon flood Yoshiko’s eyes. She made no attempt to wipe them. “How…how could I possibly kill you? Let alone…forget about you?”

A firm grasp on Riko’s hand elicits no response, yet her grasp hardly loosens in a surge of emotion. “I promise to make things right, Riri. I promise that I _will_ find my happiness.”

A knock on the door calls Yoshiko’s attention. “Tsushima-san, Mari-ojousama requests your presence in her quarters at the soonest. It is of utter importance.”

“Tell her I’m on my way,” Yoshiko suppressed her sobs.

“Very well.”

Amidst the footsteps of the unseen aide walking away, she follows suit out of the room. The door closes behind her, silence reigning unopposed in the room once more. Tears well up and drop down the side of Riko’s face, having heard her friend’s epiphany word for word.

**~O~**

THE ILLUMINATION of a chandelier fills Ruby’s sight as she awakens from her coma. Her head, with great effort, turns to see the posh quarters while her mind wonders how she ended up in such a place. Jogging her memory only takes her to the moments before a bright flash, the result of her futile sacrifice to destroy Ricosia. The aftermath remains blurry, no matter how much Ruby shakes her head in disbelief.

Try as she might, Ruby’s beaten body refuses to rise from bed. Instead, every attempt is met with a spike of pain that drives her back down. The level of pain is natural for an elfin who used all of her life force to claim the life of a single angel. The little that has kept her alive to this point, to her curiosity, must have come from an external source.

And she can only think of one capable person, who enters the room in time to see her awake and alive. “Onee…chan…?”

“I brought you some sweet potatoes,” Dia walks up to her sister’s side. “Mari-san had them prepared just for you. They’re your favorite, right?”

Ruby watches her favorite food settle on a plate, steaming fresh from the roast. Not implying of refusing Dia’s offer, she simply stares at the sweet potatoes losing their warmth in a cool room. Dia helps herself to a piece, her soft expression in enjoying a late night snack tempting Ruby.       

“Onee…I mean, Dia-san,” Ruby began.

“What’s with the change in honorifics, Ruby?” Dia chuckled with a mouthful.

“Well, we’re not…sisters, as you just said. So…”

“True. But I know in your heart you still want to call me that.”

“Dia…onee-chan…”

“Now, eat up before they get cold.”

Not a hint of hostility. Has the elfin’s mad stunt been all but forgotten so quickly? The silent feast of sweet potatoes suggests it, but unease remains. Guilt bears down on Ruby with the weight of a star on its death throes. The adamant Adamia would have passed judgment without question, but nothing of the sort has crossed her mind. Nevertheless, she invokes her right to ask. “Ruby, why did you do it?”

Doubt keeps Ruby’s lips sealed.

“I know it’s all to flee the war, but still that was dangerous. What if the spell went awry?”

“…”

“You could’ve erased _both_ our memories. None of this would’ve mattered at all.”

“…”

“True, I would’ve treated your invitation with skepticism. I might have rejected it even.”

“…”

“But to use a power both Heaven and Hell fear, it’s just…”

The sweet potato trembles in Dia’s hand as she falls silent. Soon, it lays on the floor a waste of good food, a minor trouble in exchange for hugging Ruby. Soaking the sheets, her tears soon drive Ruby to weep with her.

“You idiot,” Dia sobbed. “Even if we just pretended to be sisters, I couldn’t just forget about you. How…how could I?”

“Onee-chan,” Ruby sobbed in reply.

“We both saw the war for what it was. We both wanted to run away.”

“Onee-chan, I…”

“But it didn’t have to be like this. You could’ve just asked.”

Ruby grips one of Dia’s hugging arms without turning around. “But…but I,” she chokes on her sadness and soon breaks into a bellow. The rest of the sweet potatoes lay untouched amidst the exchange of tears. Dia’s embrace tightens, but not once does Ruby ask to loosen a little. After this, no longer will they keep a part of them from each other, sisters or otherwise.

The squall of tears and sniveling finally subside. Dia’s embrace, however, stays with Ruby who tightens her grasp in response. As if enchanted with the power to coax out the truth, the embrace clears Ruby of her doubt.

Terrified of dying outside the dark domain, the elfin entangled the shield maiden into her pretense. With utmost care, she sows fabrications of their sisterly bond with each meeting often enough to become truth. As Adamia stained her hands with the blood of Ruberi, who refused to retaliate out of sisterly love, the plan had been fully realized. With a dying elfin in her arms, the angel exiled themselves to Earth.

Of the well-orchestrated ruse, however, one aspect stands out as truth. “I did it for us, onee-chan. And now, I want to do it for those who feel the same way.”

Dia, still shedding tears, hardly loosens her embrace. “Oh, Ruby…”

“If you can’t forgive me, that’s fine. I deserve it.”

“Still, I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For standing by your conviction.”

Ruby feels her sister’s embrace loosen, sliding away from her grasp. She sees her sister climbing on top of her with an intimate gaze, to her shock. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“Now that we know we’re not sisters, nothing will hold us back anymore."

Dia’s mild stroke along the length of Ruby’s leg inches to the point of arousal. Their lips meet in a hearty transfer of black fluid, as opposed to a white fluid they shared not long ago. Choking on the surge of power, Ruby savors every drop while gripping her sister’s clothes. Little by little, the fluid rebuilds the elfin’s strength, although far from ready for another battle.

Passionate minutes pass before they part lips. Short on breath but not on love, Ruby gazes at Dia with infatuation. “Onee-chan…”

“I’m going to make things right, Ruby,” Dia replied.

“Make things right?”

“I’ll help you realize your dream the right way. On that, you can rest easy.”

“I’m so glad, onee-chan. Thank you.”

“But promise me you’ll never do something crazy like that ever again.”

A happy Ruby nods. One last kiss seals their vow.


	29. Of Her Own Accord

_Incursions are popping all over Numazu and adjacent areas. We estimate that their current numbers have yet to reach invasion strength, but it’s only a matter of time. The Order neither has the men nor resources to mount an effective defense, which is why we need to hit fast, hit hard, and hit now._

_We’re grateful for your help, Yohane-dono. You’ll go with Ezekiel Company on a rescue mission in southern Numazu. Civilians are awaiting evacuation at the local ryokan, and your mission is to buy them time. Once complete, cover the transports’ escape until they’ve reached safety._

_You’re the only one strong enough to fight these abominations. The lives of hundreds who want nothing to do with this goddamn war rests in your hands._

\--Briefing of rescue operation

 

SPES CONTRA SPEM. To hope even when all hope is lost. To stand firm even as everyone else has fled. Such is the creed of the Order of the Sixth Day, a society that lurks in the shadow of humanity as its shield. Its men and women, once leading normal lives, have long resigned to the fate of challenging Heaven and Hell. The lives they knowingly left behind are a small price to pay for the future of others. None will mourn their deaths, let alone come to their aid, other than comrades-in-arms. They are “dead” in the eyes of regular society but live on in their convictions.

They are the Guilty Barrel’s unlikely allies.

Amidst an air of war, the rescue column navigates the streets. Cargo trucks struggle to keep up in the labyrinth of tight corners and corridors. Ahead and behind them are their only means of security: battlewagons of footmen. They will have their taste of combat against the divine and the demonic. Trembling grips and deep breaths plague the ranks. One silently prays to grant him victory, the irony of resisting the deities he prays to lost to him. Not a word among the men.

One of them, however, finds the courage to speak by turning to Yoshiko for answers. “You haven’t told us why you decided to help humanity.”

“I’m not obliged to answer that,” Yoshiko keeps her gaze to the horizon.

“If we’re gonna trust you on this, we’ll need an answer.”

“I don’t require your trust. I only need you to help me exact my revenge.”

“Revenge, eh? No surprise there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who doesn’t like revenge? It’s cocaine for the enraged soul.”

With dead silence, Yoshiko elects to follow the dialogue no further. But the footman, in her mind, makes a valid point. There can be no cure for the addiction to revenge other than seeing that revenge fulfilled. Is this is the happiness she seeks?

Is this what she promised Riko?

The convoy soon pulls up in front of the _ryokan_ , none other than the Takami family inn. The crowd of terrified faces troops to the transports a disorderly lot, jostling for the first to reach safety. Instead of fighting in the crossfire of light and darkness, the Order fights the chaos of humans trying to save their own skin, to Yoshiko’s disgust.

“These people are beyond saving,” she uttered.

“They’re just human,” replied the footman.

“And your point is?”

“Try to see the world in their point of view. Be in their shoes.”

“Why should I place myself to their level?”

“If you can’t do that, then don’t give me that bullshit.”

The profanity earns the footman the fallen angel’s glare, but he shrugs them off and attends to his men. From the shadows of the trucks, Yoshiko witnesses the crowd finally finding peace in the footman’s words. Soon a proper queue forms, one for each truck, and every civilian gets a safe space. Fortunately, angels and demons have yet to do battle in the area.

Among the queue, a familiar voice calls out. “Yoshiko-chan!”

“Chika? What are you doing here?”

“Eh? This is where I live.”

“Oh yeah. Right.”

Chika’s gladness to see a friendly face quickly turns into dread as she looks at the evacuation. “Yoshiko-chan, what’s going on? Why are we being asked to evacuate?”

“I…I don’t know. I got swept up in the chaos, as well.”

“I-Is it a tsunami? We’ve never had tsunamis here before.”

“Calm down, it’s not a tsunami. But I promise you’ll be safe.”

Yoshiko suddenly staggers at the sensation of an energy spike from out of nowhere. Leaving a surprised Chika, she races to the beach where it emanates. Far from the coast, the flashes of conflict fill the blanket of stars. The first of many battles between harmony and discord on Earth is waged, with neither side emerging as the victor. Such a skirmish only spells disaster for the humans she fights to save.

“They’re too close to the convoy,” said an annoyed Yoshiko in hush tones.

By her will, unearthly chains wrap her body and set her ablaze. Her mortal clothes dissipate, in place of her black dress and wings. The Guilty Barrel steps forth, her task clear.

Before taking to the skies, however, Chika calls out to her in horror. “Yoshiko-chan?”

Yohane snaps around and realizes her blunder. “Chika…”

“That’s just cosplay, right? Yeah, just cosplay.”

“Chika, don’t be—”

Yohane’s words stop short at the sensation of another energy spike heading for the convoy. The cry of a footman alerts her in time. “We’ve got incoming, north and south!”

**~O~**

THE COLLECTIVE HOWLS of hellhounds filling the air send the civilians in a riot. Their snarling thirst for flesh shows no clemency for men, women, and children alike. From keeping the peace, most of the footmen move to meet the imminent threat in a phalanx of muzzles. The few left to maintain order are helpless to stop fisticuffs from breaking out, hesitant to even fire warning shots. The people already safe inside the trucks fight to prevent being pulled down into the turmoil.

Yohane and Chika watch the chaos unfold, to disgust and shock respectively. It serves to iterate the fallen angel’s point: the life of all flawed beings is of no worth protecting. Her only purpose for the humans is to exact revenge for the betrayal by her kin. What better way to achieve this with the least amount of effort than an alliance of convenience? It can be a pact where humans are nothing more but sacrificial pawns to the Guilty Barrel.

Then, why does she relent? Why grab Chika by the shoulders to give her an important task? “Chika, listen to me! If you want to live, rally your people.”

“Wait, _my_ people?”

“We’ll buy you as much time as we can. I need you to organize the evacuation.”

“Hold on! That’s a tall order—”

“I know. But there’s nobody else but you.”

“Still…I don’t think…”

“If you can’t do it for me, then do it for Yoshiko Tsushima!”

Then, the first shots of the desperate defense sow more chaos into the situation. “Hold fast! Don’t let them through!” the familiar footman returns firewith the rest of his men, the barrage of bullets cutting down the incoming pack. Some get through with little injury and pounce on the men, not adept at fighting with their bare hands. The first casualties of Ezekiel Company go down in anguish, mutilated by the bloodlust of spawns of darkness.

For the sake of the townspeople, including her family, Chika finally steels her resolve. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.”

With a brief grin, Yohane leaves for the call of battle.  The fury of the Hellstorms slays its first two hounds, sparing a helpless footman from their fangs. “Get up!” she yells at him in indignation. “You want to live forever, do you?!” Confused at first, the footman gets back up and rejoins the struggle, letting out a battle cry like a man possessed. His comrades around him also want to live forever, their cries adding to their struggle for survival.

Fighting off wave after wave of hounds, Yohane’s mind plays host a different kind of war. _Why am I suddenly finding the heart to help these people? I cannot be bothered with their inferior race. Only vengeance matters to me._ Still, hound after hound goes down before a hail of bullets, never to stop as long as one still stands. Is it the thrill of battle fueling her? Is her method of revenge confined to the convenience her human “allies” can provide?

It has only been a moment, but the same words she uttered to Chika earlier return to remind her. _If you can’t do it for me, then do it for Yoshiko Tsushima!_

“This is what you want?” the fallen angel utters without losing touch with the battle at hand. Her mortal persona need not reply. The change she feels within her is more than enough.

“Second wave of contacts inbound!” yelled a footman.

No respite for the conflicted. She trains her guns toward the horizon with the desperate defenders. To her horror, however, the incoming hounds are engulfed in a buzzing curtain of silver, their bloodlust never to reach the mortals.

Alas, a more horrible fate awaits them. A winged shepherd in robes points his cane at the humans. The stoic look he maintains shows no remorse for the souls about to be consumed by his flock of small automatons. The curtain that devoured the hellhounds and left no trace of them heads for its next victim without delay. From the eyes of an innocent child, the image of the angelic savior has all but crumbled.

Yohane and her allies fire into the curtain, destroying too few to deter them. The swarm eventually latches on and sinks their fangs onto tasty flesh. The unlucky footmen squirm and scream in agony until they vanish in a soft glow, leaving their apparel and gear. Even the fallen are not spared of such a fate, the automatons even cleaning up their pool of blood.

 Such is the terror of automatons that feed on organic life. Their sights now turn to the refugees, to the fallen angel’s fret. “Oh no, Chika!”

The refugees shriek in fear but are resigned to their fate, hugging their loved ones one last time. Yohane races to save them with perfect hits, but the automatons’ numbers hardly dwindle. The first of countless victims are consumed in agony, the rest jumping out of the trucks to save themselves but suffer the same fate. Nothing seems to be able to stop them.

Among those fleeing, Chika trips and falls on the rocky ground of the _ryokan_. As the automatons come for her flesh and bone, Yohane swoops in and unleashes a barrage in anger. “Yoshiko-chan!” cried Chika. “Forget about me and save yourself.”

The fallen angel pretends deafness. Chika’s cries, however, hardly abate.

“Yoshiko-chan!”

_You still wish to save her? Do you have a death wish, Yoshiko Tsushima?_

“Yoshiko-chan, run!”

_If I perish, you perish as well. Remember that._

“Please, run away!”

_And yet…your will is too strong for a mere vassal._

“YOSHIKO-CHAAAAAN!”

_Then…just this once…_

Yohane finally acknowledges her. “Chika, get behind my wings!”

“What?”

“NOW!”

Without a word of doubt, Chika gets up and leans against Yohane’s back. The latter’s wings unfold and close around the mortal, the pursuing automatons breaking off. They cannot feed on the wings of a creature of chaos, much less organic life seeking shelter inside said wings. The girls fight for dear life as the swarm encircles them, both sides in search of an opening.


	30. For Want of Her Love

_Two hours earlier…_

“I promise to make things right, Riri. I promise that I _will_ find my happiness.”

A firm grasp on Riko’s hand elicits no response, yet Yoshiko hardly loosens it up amidst a surge of emotion. Tears flood the latter’s eyes but makes no attempt to wipe them off. The blood of her enemy and dear friend stains her hands, yet she refuses to clean them. With a heavy heart, she accepts the blood as another record of guilt to bear alone. Adding to her guilt is the burden to, in her own words, “make things right.” The sincerity in her words implies her intention to do so no matter how futile. But where does an erring fallen angel start?

A knock on the door calls Yoshiko’s attention. “Tsushima-san, Mari-ojousama requests your presence in her quarters at the soonest. It is of utter importance.”

“Tell her I’m on my way,” Yoshiko suppresses her sobs.

“Very well.”

Amidst the footsteps of the unseen aide walking away, Yoshiko follows suit out of the room. The door closes behind her, silence reigning unopposed in the room once more. Tears well up and drop down the side of Riko’s face, having heard her friend’s epiphany word for word.

She eventually opens her eyes to an epiphany of her own, a reason to cling on to hope for a little longer. Under grunting echoes, she forces her battered body out of bed to no avail. Ruberi’s self-sacrifice has all but destroyed her strength in a blast that sparked the true start of the war on Earth. Only the elfin’s hesitation at the last second delivered the Lonely Sword from death.

“I beg of you, let me help Yocchan,” once more she forces herself up, once more she is put in her place by the pain. Tears swell anew as attempt after attempt elicits the same result. The sound of her own sobbing makes her realize that the desires of her heart are futile. She simply cannot help Yohane, let alone anyone, in her condition.

One of the Ohara housekeepers passing by finally takes notice of the sobbing and enters the room. “Can I help you with something, milady?”

Never a dull moment, Riko asks her in haste. “Where’s Yocchan?”

“You mean Yohane-sama?”

“Yes. Where is she?”

“She left with troops of the Order recently.”

“Left for where?”

“I’m sorry, milady. I have no clue.”

Riko’s heart sinks. Another battle awaits the Guilty Barrel, another chance for fate to demand her death. Writhing from the pain, she finally concedes to her helplessness. The housekeeper looks on in silence.

Then, she makes a strange request. “Can you take me to Yusari-chan?”

**~O~**

STALE SILENCE remains adrift in a room a couple of doors down the hall. Bound to a wheelchair, Riko locks her stare on the ebony wings of her nemesis, whose gaze flies off into the distance. The fallen angel elects not to respond to her presence, not even an errant twitch of her wings. Before her lies the wretch who used her as a human shield to aid in escape, as well as murdered her mortal flesh in cold blood. Before her lies the miscreant who will go to great lengths, even sowing lies to friends, to break her. All that has transpired between them stems from sharing the same apple of their eyes.

“Give us a moment, please,” Riko calmly tells the housekeeper, who excuses herself. Then, the conversation begins.  “Yusari-chan, I need to talk to you.”

“…”

“Yocchan’s out there again. She’s trying to save as many innocents as she can.”

“…”

“She needs help. Aren’t you gonna help her?”

Riko recalls the housekeeper’s words prior to entering. The household has given up bringing Yusari breakfast, lunch, and dinner as she barely touches them. She rarely acknowledges keepers entering her room on a cleaning routine. Her gaze is confined to the world framed by the window, a world shrouded in darkness like her heart. The pain of betrayal continues to sink its fangs and deliver its venom, not that Riko knows about it.

“At least you and Yocchan have people acknowledging you,” Riko continued. “I never had a single person treat me as more than a hero. I was only seen as a miracle worker that only serves to push the front forward. I couldn’t laugh at jokes or enjoy a meal with angels my age. I’ve never done such things since I took up the sword.”

For the third time, tears trail down Riko’s face. Even with sobbing, Yusari is unmoved.

“You may know me as Ricosia the Lonely Sword. But for once, even for just a second, I just want to be known as simply…Ricosia.”

Finally, a response but hostile. “Do you think I _care_?”

“No…you don’t. I’m sorry.”

 “I don’t need your sorry. I need you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll leave. But only if you help Yocchan.”

Riko’s shock comes too late to thwart Yusari’s attempt to choke her to death. Gasping for breath, she grabs the hands strangling her and tries to pull herself free to no avail. The excruciating pain returns to add to the suffering as she is lifted off the wheelchair.

“I told you to never CALL HER THAT!” a furious Yusari tightens her stranglehold.

“Yusari…chan…please,” Riko pleaded in a muffled tone.

“All this is your fault! Why couldn’t you just leave her alone?”

“Please…”

“If I only came earlier, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Please…don’t keep Yocchan from…”

“What, her happiness?”

“Yes…”

“Her happiness is here currently trying to STRANGLE you to death!”

“Let…Yocchan…decide…”

The noose tightens as more anger is fed to it. The helpless Riko hacks in suffering, forced to listen to the tirade of the confused. Is it not happiness when one stands by her friend when no one else will? Is it not happiness when one stays with her friend despite being treated worse than a slave? Is it not happiness when one gives up all to save a single life? The lack of closure prompts her to take her frustration out on the person she wishes gone from Yohane’s life.

“Tell me, Riko-chan. Is that not _happiness_?!”

Amidst hacking and a trembling grip on the hand choking her, Riko musters enough courage to challenge a skewed point of view. “It’s…it’s not…”

“Then WHAT IS?!”

“I…don’t know. But I…know that’s…not…”

Before finishing, Riko is hurled toward the bed, taking her first gasps of air since being freed from the choking grip. Yusari leaps onto the bed and pins her arms down. Her livid glare sows fear into her victim’s soul but not enough to silence an opposing voice.

“Do you think Yocchan will be happy seeing you beat yourself up worthless?” a determined Riko said in between desperate gasps.

“It’s a sacrifice I can afford,” replied the fallen angel.

“It’s not worth it!”

“I’ve given up everything for her. I got her this far because of that.”

“And for what? So Yocchan can see her close friend fall?”

“She’ll remember me for this. That’s good enough for me.”

“Yusari-chan, that’s insane!”

Insanity, however, barely defines the fallen angel’s decision to take off her panties in front of Riko. “Insane?” she wears a salacious smile as she tosses her panties away. “Wait till you get a load of this.”

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t get to enjoy your first.”

**~O~**

GRASPING THE SHEETS with all her might, Riko accepts the caress of the fallen angel’s lips. Her brief squeals in intervals echo beyond the room, but in the heat of the moment she pays no heed to eavesdroppers. The demure lily, holding on to her flower for dear life, accepts every offer of love given to her. From the passionate kiss, she gets some by the tips of her breasts, drenched by a tongue hungry for lust. Riko’s squeal becomes a moan, her spirit filling with excitement only the love of her life can probably give. But who exactly is that person: Yohane who has been the apple of her eye for so long, or Yusari staring into her eyes at this moment?

“Does it feel good, Riko-chan?” the seduction in Yusari’s tone entrances the lily. “We can do this as many times as you like. All you have to do is to forget about Yocchan.” Her slithering tongue feasts upon Riko’s breasts, adding to the confusion tearing the latter apart inside.

Riko drowns under a guilty pleasure she continues to accept, unbecoming of an image of purity. The coitus reaches her virginity below, not spared from the incessant licking. She cries in the arousal, her deflowered chastity spraying love at Yusari who hardly minds the mess.

“So, are we in agreement?” Yusari licks some of the juice dripping around her lips.

“But…but Yocchan…”

“Still not satisfied, I see? Well then…”

Lifting up her skirt, Yusari takes Riko’s hand and lodges it into her own orifice. The expert moan that follows fills both girls with excitement. In and out the hand goes, drenching it in Yusari’s brand of love. Each pint discharged emboldens them to push harder, Riko taking one step further with a sudden kiss.

“Ahh…Riko-chan…you’re so daring,” Yusari responds in between the caresses of their lips.

“Please,” Riko gasped. “Do me more. Do me more.”

“How can I say ‘no’ to that?”

Under an unbreakable trance, Riko submits to undressing down to her lace brassiere. She gives in to a pair of hands champing at the bit for delicate flesh, crying to the heavens. She surrenders a part of her as part of the bargain but how much? The fear of surrendering too much menaces her thoughts, but then she recalls for whom the sacrifice entails.

“Yocchan…Yocchan needs…” uttered a blank-faced Riko.

Yusari strokes Riko’s hair. “She’s gone through a lot, Riko-chan. More than you think.”

“I…I don’t want her…to suffer anymore.”

“Then…be done with her. Let her go.”

“Yocchan deserves to be happy…whatever the cost.”

“Of course. But will you be happy?”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“If it means making her happy, then…”

All the affirmation Yusari needs has been uttered. The high point of their coitus sees them rubbing their orifices against each other. Fluid splashes on to their faces, but even their loudening cries stop at nothing. Amidst enjoying the company of her enemy, Riko breaks into tears. The gravity of severing all her bonds to Yohane chokes her, but she bears the burden for the greater good.

_It hurts. I can’t be with Yocchan after this. But if this will end her suffering, then I’ll accept it in her place. I started this mess, so it’s only right that I clean it up._

Their satisfaction reaches its peak. Fatigued, Riko falls to Yusari’s embrace and listens to her final words.

“Let Yocchan go. Don’t make this any harder for her. I beg of you.”

Yusari lays the angel to rest, tucked beneath a soaked blanket. After dressing up, she steps outside the balcony and takes to the skies. The bargain is done.

_This is goodbye, Yocchan._


	31. Change of Hearts

_When the heavens casted me out and had me executed, Yusari came to my rescue. She led me to the Underworld where I started a new life as the fallen angel Yohane. We were practically stuck like glue, fighting side by side against angels and renegade demons. All this time, while I was focused on seeking revenge, Yusari had my back._

_And that worried me. Not once have I heard her talk about her wishes. What she wants to do, what makes her happy. Every time I raise this issue to her, all that she tells me is that my happiness is also her happiness. I wanted to confront her about this, but revenge kept me._

_I never got the chance. She was killed during a botched mission in another dimension. That’s how I got the moniker “Guilty Barrel.” I wasn’t guilty because I screwed up that mission. It was because I let revenge get the best of me. And I paid with my best friend’s life._

\--Yoshiko’s “long story” to Riko, Chapter 4 (unwritten)

 

“Ridiculous.”

To think of enriching one’s happiness at the cost of the other’s own as an absurdity is, in itself, an absurdity. Never has helping Yohane find her happiness impeded Yusari’s own pursuit. By choice, it IS Yusari’s pursuit. It is the reality she bears since their fateful meeting 300 celestial years ago, playing the role of a lapdog. Waging genocide against angels, rooting out traitors in their midst, exploiting the oblivious for their benefit—all these and more in the name of friendship—perhaps love. Her thoughts and ideas are irrelevant.

“Yocchan doesn’t need to know what I think,” Yusari darts through the night sky, above the dance of city lights. “She only needs to feel good about everything she does. She only needs to know that I’ve got her back no matter what.”

 _Do you think Yocchan will be happy seeing you beat yourself up worthless?_ The Lonely Sword’s words haunt her along the way, but she easily turns a deaf ear to them. Why would she even lend an ear? A wench like Ricosia would never understand the burden of the Guilty Barrel. She never made herself known when the overlords, green with envy, led Yohane to her fall from grace. Both of them stood on opposing sides, their sole purpose servitude to light and darkness. They should be enemies, yet Yusari’s faith to the idea is not absolute.

“I’m not worthless,” Yusari mumbled. “This IS what I’m worth, what will make me happy.”

The lights grow fewer and farther as she soars over the outskirts. The pockets of darkness in the vicinity, however, cannot hide the sounds of chaos below. Over the local _ryokan_ , she witnesses in stunned horror as the swarm of automatons ravage a lone Yohane. Her wings enclose a fretful Chika, safe from the swarm but for the meantime. Clearly the fallen angels have a great deal of talk later, but a common threat must be dealt with first.

“Yocchan!” she cried.

“Yusari, the shepherd!” Yohane points in the distance with her gaze.

As part of the swarm turns its attention to the new arrival, Yusari eludes them and assails the swarm’s master. The automatons, however, reach their master on time to form an impregnable barrier. The flurry of thrusts is mockingly shrugged, the swarm breaking up and assailing the fallen angel in retaliation. Her cries of agony resonate with the raging sunder of flesh. The automatons waste no time feasting on the fallen angel, as their master silently demands her demise.

The siege of the refugees is lifted, but it is now Yohane’s turn to look on in horror.

“Yusari!” she races to her partner’s aid, never to stop even as Chika follows suit.

“Don’t come, Yocchan!”

“That’s not up for discussion! I’m getting you out!”

“Don’t worry about me. Get out while you still can.”

“Like I told you, that’s not up—”

“Yocchan, you have to live!”

“AND SO DO YOU!”

Doing all unthinkable acts justice, Yohane throws herself into the swarm. A shocked Yusari is forced to welcome her in open arms. Despite the trap closing around them, their embrace holds steady and true as their feelings for each other.

“Yocchan,” Yusari still reels from the shocking act. “Why did you—?”

Yohane tightens her embrace. “No more. It’s my turn to make you happy.”

“Yocchan…”

“Everyone’s entitled to their own happiness, including you.”

“But…all this time…I’m supposed to make you happy.”

“At what cost? So I can see my close friend beat herself up?”

Not the exact words from Riko, but the effect staggers Yusari all the same. The first of her tears of regret fall, sobbing audible despite the buzzing of the scourge. “Yocchan…”

The automatons soon feast on the Guilty Barrel’s flesh, but her embrace holds. No more running away, no more hiding behind a fearful alias, no more seeking revenge. Her embrace tightens some more, as if to force out years of trapped sadness. The pain of torn flesh soon subsides to dearth, as if resigned to her fate.

A small price to pay, all to hear the beat of a true heart in the form of three words.

“I love you…Yocchan.”

Yohane says nothing, but her embrace says it all.

Upon settling on their farewell words, the earsplitting barrage of guns blazing startles them. The swarm staggers under the pelt of lead disrupting their feast, confused whether to defend their master or keep feasting. The fallen angels make out the muzzle flashes and rustle of gear of footmen distracting the automatons with unrelenting fire. The remnants of Ezekiel Company refuse to be left out, along with refugees taking up arms to save their saviors.

“Whatever you’re planning to do, girls, do it fast!” the familiar footman yells at them.

The swarm loosens under the courage of mortals thought to have given up hope. Despite their grave wounds, Yohane and Yusari use the chance to break out of the swarm. They come face to face with the shepherd who raises his staff to rally the automatons. Under Yusari’s rain of spears, however, the shepherd staggers before he gets the chance. Before the wounds can bleed out, Yohane unleashes her own rain of death.

The swarm finally rallies and encloses the shepherd. None of their attacks manage to pierce the shell, but they might not need to. “Keep firing, mortals!” shouted Yohane at the footmen.

“We’re down to our last mag, lady,” the captain switches out his empty magazine. “Whatever you’re gonna do to end this, you only have one shot.”

“That’s all I need.”

In an instant, the men receive their new orders. “You heard her! Suppressive fire!”

The mortals’ guns flare to life for one last time. As the automatons once more stagger under a rain of lead, Yohane trains one of her guns toward the faltering shell. Her gaze hardens, the trigger wrapped by the urgency of firing the shot that will decide fates. She watches the shell slowly loosen but resists the urge to fire until the right moment.

Behind her, the guns fall silent one by one. “I’m out!”

“Last mag out!”

“Dammit, I’m all done!”

The barrage falters, the swarm using the chance to reform its inviolable shell. Yohane’s last chance slips from her grasp. She pulls the trigger, just as the last of the mortal’s guns fall silent.

The Hellstorm’s slug takes off in a fiery blast, spinning as it knifes across the gap. The swarm masses around the point of impact, but by a miracle the bullet grazes the edge and makes it through. By instinct, the shepherd raises his staff, which splits in half across the grain. It falls to the ground as mere debris, its power eventually lost. The Guilty Barrel’s gamble has worked.

Without the will of the staff to keep them in line, the automatons scatter in a frenzied rage and self-destruct. In seething pain, the shepherd spreads its wings and flees. Yohane and Yusari take to the skies in pursuit, but their grave injuries force them down seconds later. From the ground, they watch in frustration as their wounded prey lives to fight another day. Or so it seems, as the next second the prey, too, falls before the thunderclap of a fatal strike from above.

The threat to the refugees has been felled. And an able-bodied Ricosia dealt the final blow.

“Sorry I’m late,” she gives her friends a warm smile.

**~O~**

A WELCOME LULL drifts over the scenario of humans picking up the dead. Save for a handful of corpses, the dead entails pieces of clothing left on the ground. Not a fleshy trace of those that once wore them can be found, a cruel fate created by the automatons. The youth, the elderly, male and female—no mortal is safe from the inevitable descending upon them.

Nevertheless, hope still burns strong among the survivors. The inspiration for some refugees to take up arms earlier stems from the self-sacrifice of two fallen angels. Perchance the war may not render them helpless after all. Despite losing loved ones in the battle, the refugees extend their gratitude for standing by them until the end. Yohane and Yusari look away flustered, clearly not used to receiving such feelings, to Ricosia’s amusement. The men of Ezekiel Company give the same in the form of a handshake, to which Yohane accepts on her companions’ behalf. Thus marks the birth of an alliance, no longer of convenience but faith.

In this lull, the heroes of the hour get the chance to settle their differences. Hatred and sorrow have bedeviled their relationship for far too long. Ricosia desires an end to such feelings, especially now that she has made her choice by slaying one of her own kind. All the while, her foes-turned-friends lend an ear.

“It’s only a matter of time before I’m denounced a traitor,” Ricosia said. “But I won’t change my mind. There’s nothing for me back home anymore.”

“You better not be taking this decision lightly, Riko-chan,” replied Yusari.

“I’m not. I’ve already given up returning home the moment I met Yocchan.”

“And you better not be calling her that.”

“Why won’t you let me? I want to be as close to her as you do.”

Yohane steps in before unwanted tension ruins their newfound friendship. “That’s enough, both of you. If you two are intent on staying, I won’t stop you. Besides, I understand Riri’s reason for staying.”

“You do?” asked a surprised Ricosia.

“Yes. There’s nothing for us back home, as well,” after which, Yohane reveals their mission to abduct Ricosia and the revelation of its nature as a false flag. Discord, which she and Yusari once served with distinction, no longer desires their service—their deaths instead.

“So that’s why. That night, you were angry.”

“I was angry at the fact that I had to kill you just to redeem myself. But that’s all in the past.”

“I’m sorry, Yocchan. Had I known, I would’ve told you.”

“Angels have their memories locked away when they’re far from home for too long. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.”

“I know. Still…”

“Besides,” Yohane wraps her arms around her cherished angel, to the latter’s (and Yusari’s) surprise. “I’m glad that you decided to stay, as well.”

Feeling the warmth of Yohane’s true feelings, Ricosia accepts the embrace sobbing. “Me too, Yocchan,” she tightens her embrace in her desire to cherish the moment for a little longer. Yohane grants her request with a tighter embrace of her own.

Meanwhile, an unfortunate witness musters her anger in clenched fists. “It’s not fair.”

Yohane is forced to end the embrace. “Yusari?”

“It’s…not fair. I gave _everything_ , and still…”

“Yusari, it’s not like that.”

“Why, Yocchan? What does _she_ have that I don’t?”

Yusari asks, yet she refuses to hear the answer by running off in tears. Chika, the only mortal witness to the dialogue of troubled hearts, glares at Ricosia.

“I told you to get out of our lives! Hasn’t You-chan suffered enough?!” she runs after the vexed Yusari in frustration. The lovebirds are left in stunned horror and sorrow in response. Clearly, a great deal must be done before reaching closure.


End file.
